A Symphony for a Rose
by Clockwork Key
Summary: [FE7] “Queen of Gibberish and Nonsense herself, come to show her face and spout her prophetic crap!”
1. The Unnamed

**_Movement I_**

**_The Unnamed _**

Despite the warmth of the days in Bern, the night was cold, with bitter winds whipping inside the mountain valley. Even with the broad trunks of evergreen trees blocking winds and the thick material of his cloak and cape wrapped tightly around him, Eliwood of Pherae shivered slightly in the saddle of his horse and rubbed his tired eyes. His fellows were little better off, most of drifting in and out of sleep in the saddles of their mounts. Serra was snoring softly, pressed against the chest of the Lord Tactician with her fur-lined cloak wrapped tightly to her small body while Lady Priscilla kept rapidly blinking her green eyes to keep them open. It was very late at night, possibly early morning, and he'd forgotten how many days it had been since they had last slept in an actual bed, or even a tent. Lady Lyndis, who had stubbornly decided to walk along side her horse (currently occupied by the sleeping bodies of Ninian and Nils), turned to Eliwood.

"We need to find some shelter soon; otherwise we'll never be able to survive a fight." The Lord Tactician, Mark, gave a bitter sigh and turned towards Lyn. "Your welcome to find a nice spot on the group, milady," he said with a sarcastic nod, "But I don't think there's any inn near by. We haven't seen a building since we left that village a few days ago." Lyn grit her teeth and looked around the trees, peering around the massive trunks. "I just can't believe they don't have one single town near here."

"In any case," came Kent's voice as he joined Eliwood's view. The Commander of the Caelin Knights was very haggard looking, dark bags under his eyes and a sickly, pallid look about his skin, "If we do find a village or town, it probably wouldn't be safe to stay there too long." Mark nodded agreeably, though Eliwood really doubted the young man had even understood Kent's words completely.

Lyn didn't respond for a moment but she hurried a little ahead of them, looking through the trees desperately for any sort of building. "We have to rest soon. I don't care if it means we're all getting our throats slit in the middle of the night, nobody's focused at all and I honestly think Sain was trying to use 'potatoes' as a verb earlier."

Mark glared harshly at his Lady Commander and adjusted his footing on his mare's saddle. With a dejected sigh, he spoke in a cold voice as though doing something he'd rather not do. "Fine, I'll ride ahead for a while to see if there's a building or something we can rest in. If I don't find anything within a mile, we're going without sleep again."

"And if you do that then I'll quit!" yelled Farina's voice from somewhere in the back, sounding extremely angry, "No amount of money is worth dragging Murphy through these trees!" Her Pegasus had fallen asleep a while ago and she had been forced to drag the poor creature halfway through the valley as it stubbornly slept. Her sisters' mounts were equally tired, but at least they had stayed awake for the journey, though Hyperion seemed to be the only one of the group's flying cavalry with energy to continue onward with his master on his back. Mark mumbled darkly beneath his breath and hurried off, Serra rocking back and forth in his arms swiftly like a rag doll.

Eliwood yawned widely and leaned on his horse's head, lazily scratching the stallion behind the ears. "I wonder how long we've been traveling to this accursed Shrine of Seals," he muttered into his horse's white-splashed mane. Kent looked thoughtful for a moment. "Three days," he replied, "Three days without sleep and two days without food since the horses . . ." Kent shook his head as though refusing to remember how the beasts had decimated their entire food stocks in only a few hours.

"I hope Mark finds a farm or something," said a willowy voice, one belonging to Priscilla of Caerlon. The Valkyrie was tugging her thick cloak tighter to her pale shoulders so that the fur collar was pressed against her neck and spoke in the same soft, delicately accented voice. "We're going to die of starvation and exhaustion before we reach the Shrine, and most likely the Black Fang will have had soldiers stationed there."

"We can't be sure of that."

The Eturian lady turned her tired eyes to Guy, who looked like some sort of half-alive corpse instead of his usual energetic self, and heaved a heavy sigh. "It's logical, however unpleasant. The Black Fang almost has the King tied around their fingers, and they would surely know the location of the Shrine of Seals. With the location and the knowledge that we are looking for it, they would send troops out there to guard it for protection against us." Guy glared sharply at her and, out of habit, gripped his katana's hilt tightly in his right hand.

There was an unpleasant sort of silence following Priscilla's words, bringing Eliwood's attention back towards the wood surrounding them. It was thinning slightly; on the horizon was visible flatland with a few shrubs growing. The mountains still loomed overhead like massive monoliths, as though keeping them enclosed within their omnipresent watch. The whole forest was giving him a sort of uneasy tension, like he half expected something to jump out of the bushes with a sword or axe.

The silence of the surrounding wood was cut short with a loud, piercing scream from a woman. Eliwood jerked up suddenly, feeling wide awake as he grabbed his rapier and looked around. Lyn narrowed her eyes. "It came from the east!" she barked, turning towards the red haired Pherean, "Should we go after?"

The woman screamed again, sounding louder then it had the first time. As a way of a response, Eliwood jerked the reigns of his horse and the stallion galloped to his right. It took maybe half a minute for him, Lyn and Guy to find the source of the woman's scream – she had yelled several times in quick succession after her second scream, creating a clear path to follow.

In a small clearing ten feet from where the army had been walking stood a man gripping the wrist of a young girl very tightly. The man was wearing odd clothing, very odd and mismatched. There was a dark green tunic belted over a high collared blue shirt, leather riding breeches and glossy gold-brown boots made of some odd material. Over everything he wore a woolen coat that looked as if it had mud caked all over it, with a high collar and sharp tails. He was yelling viciously at the girl in some odd language, his eyes narrowed and voice very harsh and the girl was screaming in fear, tears streaming down her frightened face.

"Let her go!" barked Lyn, drawing out the Mani Katti in a snap and assuming her common fighting poise. The man turned his head sharply, so that Eliwood could see his face clearer.

The man was about forty, maybe older, with lines creasing his cheeks and bags heavy under his deep blue eyes. His hair was dark brown, shaggy and unwashed, and his skin was a frightfully white shade. His eyes widened viciously, filling with fear as he fumbled in his pocket, still keeping a tight grasp on the girl's wrist. Lyn narrowed her eyes further.

"Let her go," she repeated, taking a step closer to the man and raising her Mani Katti dangerously slow, "Let her go, _now._"

"I don't think he can understand you," muttered Eliwood, dismounting his horse and drawing out his rapier. The man was looking fearful, but he was tightening his grip on the girl's wrist as he frantically searched his pockets with one shaking. The girl was screaming in a high pitched voice, trying to break away from the man as hard as she could and failing to do so.

Lyn pointed her sword directly at the man's throat, so that he was forced to lift up his head and stare at the Sacaen woman's narrow, angry face and blazing eyes. "Let go of the girl," she said slowly, speaking as if the man was either deaf or extremely stupid, "Or else I will kill you."

The man, instead of acting even more fearful, smirked broadly as he drew something out of his pocket. It was small, about the size of both the man's fists combined, and made of an odd black metal that caught the moonlight wickedly and, though Eliwood had absolutely no clue as to what it was, the man was holding it as if it was a weapon. Lyn eyed it carefully to and instead brought her leg up quickly so that she kicked the man in the torso. He fell backwards, winded and tightened his grip on the metal weapon in his hand.

There was a bang like breaking bone and Guy gaped at the large, smoking hole that appeared in the tree to the man's left. The weapon in his hand had fired something small that left a fairly decent sized hole in the tree. The girl, now free of the man's grip, stood for a moment as if paralyzed then backed viciously away from the man's body, wide-eyed and open mouthed. Lyn pressed her sword's blade tightly to the man's throat.

"What right do you have to terrify her like that?" snapped Lyndis. The man shut his eyes in fear and brought his odd metal weapon up to his temple and tightened his grip again.

The resulting event caused hot bile to rise in Eliwood's throat as he watched the man's head get blown clean off his shoulders. Lyn jumped backwards in disgust as blood splattered her boots and the hem of her dress and Guy winced violently. "Disgusting," muttered the Sacaen swordsman, averting his gaze from the mass of blood and brain matter that litter the snowy ground. The girl, who now stood covered in blood up to her torso, promptly turned around and threw up in the bushes.

Eliwood turned to look at the girl, forcing himself to ignore the man's remains as he examined her. She was about average height, maybe half a head shorter then Lyndis, and dressed like a boy in mismatched clothing beneath a man's black overcoat. Her tousled red hair hung to her shoulders in clumps, unwashed and unkempt, and her pale skin and thin form suggested hadn't eaten well for quiet some time.

"Are you alright?" he asked, moving closer to the girl. She was crying lightly as she spat the last of the vomit out of her mouth and turned to look at him with haunted looking garnet eyes. Her face was very thin and sunken, as if she'd been very ill recently, and she stared at him as if she'd never seen a man before. Her bottom lip trembled as she met his eyes, her hands shaking as she clutched her coat tightly to her thin shoulders.

So suddenly that it caught him off guard, the girl grabbed his arm and stared up into his eyes. She was begging in her odd language, so low pitched and hysterical that Eliwood strained to try and guess what some of her words were.

"Pleh em, esaelp pleh em ris! Esaelp!" she cried, shaking his arm violently, "Ll'yeht llik em tuohtiw rouy pleh! ESAELP!" She shook his arm even harder now, crying and speaking faster even. Many times she stared at the man's corpse, pointing and babbling incoherent words. "S'eh a reredrum, a namdam! Sih sdneirf, re'they retfa em! Esaelp, esaelp pleh em! Esaelph netsil retsim! Esaelp!"

"Calm down!" he said in a hurry, grasping her shoulders, "Can you understand me at all?" The girl stared up at him in disbelief and shook him slightly, whispering hysterically.

"Uoy . . . uoy t'nac dnatsrednu em . . . nac, nac uoy?" she asked, digging her discolored nails into his sleeve very tightly. It sounded like a question, but he couldn't give her a better answer then shaking his head.

"It's a lost cause Lord Eliwood," said Lyn, moving up and looking at the girl from an angle, "But I don't think it would be wise to leave her alone. It doesn't look like she'd survive long in this weather." The Sacaen eyed the girl's thin clothing with some distaste. The girl let go of Eliwood's arms and stared at Lyn and Guy, her gaze lingering especially on their dark green hair and katanas, her eyes widening feverishly as she did so. ". . .Ssim Mary! Uoy . . . er'uoy ekil reh!" she screamed, sounding absolutely terrified. She took two steps backwards and promptly fainted to the ground.

"What was that all about?" snapped Lyn as Guy knelt down to the girl. She was shivering violently, drenched in cold sweat. "I don't know, but she needs a healer, I reckon." Guy lifted her up, staggering for a moment as he lifted her onto Eliwood's horse. The Pherean eyed her as he mounted his stallion after her, noticing how – in her unconscious state – she kept grabbing her arm suddenly as if it were broken.

He tried to keep his mind focused on the girl leaning against his chest and not on the image of the man's head exploding, as what was repeating violently in his mind's eyes.

* * *

"Saint Elimine blesses civilization," breathed Serra warmly, draining the last of her tea and looking fondly around her room in the inn Lord Eliwood's army was currently staying. Mark had managed to find a town at the edge of the mountains, distant enough from any 'funny lookin' places er folk', as the innkeeper had so delicately told them. Most of the rag-tag soldiers in the group were upstairs, happily asleep in soft beds and Serra would have given dearly to be part of them had she not found herself interested in the odd redhead Lady Lyndis, Lord Eliwood and Guy had found.

The young woman was lying in one of the two beds in the room, shivering violently on odd moments and rather homely in her appearance. Priscilla was seated next to the girl, occasionally pressing a cold rag to her feverish brow and Lyndis was leaning against the wall, watching the Eturian healer tend to the unknown woman.

"I'd like to know this enigma's name," muttered Lyn angrily, starring at the closed eyes and sunken face of the woman, "And just where she's from. I've never heard anybody speak like her before, or dress like her."

"Can you describe the language, milady?" asked Priscilla softly, rubbing her tired green eyes with one hand as she slipped the covers down slightly so she could examine the girl's neck for any wounds. Lyn's brow creased in concentration as she drummed her tan fingers against her cloak sleeve.

"It was like . . . like nothing I've ever heard before. That's all I can say about it, really." Priscilla began to unbutton the girl's shirt, intent on checking the girl's shoulders and neck for any wounds. Underneath her two black blouses was a white shirt that clung tightly to her skin and revealed most of her breastbone. Priscilla winced slightly at the sight of the girl's arms as she traced her fingers across the skin.

There were small cuts across her shoulders and arms, many of them encircled with angry red lines of infection. Some were recently scabbed over, some looked old and there were a few white scars from ancient wounds, but all of them looked as if they had been made from a very thin knife, even thinner then the blade of a butter knife. Priscilla pressed a finger gently to the worst of them; a long slit made just beneath her neck that was surrounded by a purple bruise and discolored, burgundy skin. The girl gasped violently in pain and jerked away, cold sweat dripping from her brow and her breathe coming out in sharp gasps.

Priscilla took the healing staff that was propped on the wall next to her and held the sapphire and gold orb a few inches above the girl's chest. "Restore and Recover," she commanded in a firm voice and a soft bluish light engulfed the wounds. Quickly, they healed without even leaving a scar to show they had been there. The girl relaxed immediately, some color popping back into her lifeless cheekbones.

The Eturian Valkyrie sighed heavily and leaned back in her chair, breathing quickly. "Strong poison," she explained to an edgy looking Lyndis, "I do not think I've ever dealt with something that strong before. Whoever gave her those cuts . . . they really wanted to kill her."

The Caelin Princess' only words were; "Check her pockets."

The quick search drew out a single object; a necklace. More exactly, it was a long silver chain with a circular locket was clasped tightly to the metal links. Lyn fingered the locket carefully and pried it open easily and without a sound. Inside, however, was nothing like she'd ever seen in a locket before. It had the vague look of a sundial, but there were two intricate pieces of metal that moved in a slow, ticking fashion of their own accord. Where numerals would have been on the sundial were arcane looking symbols, likes magical runes. Opposite of the odd sundial was a small inscription in tasteless print. 'Property of Miss Mary Fenrir.'

"Well, now we know her name," said Lyn with a small sigh, closing the locket and dropping it on Mary's chest, "Just let her sleep, I guess. If she's ill, sleep might be the best thing."

Priscilla bowed her head respectfully. "As you wish, milady Lyndis." Serra yawned widely and moved towards the only other bed in the room, taking off her silk cloak and sitting atop the bed. "Well, I don't know about you two, but I need my beauty rest," said the Cleric cheekily, "I'll watch her fine, don't worry."

"There's a spare bed in my room Priscilla," said Lyn, standing and leaning a gauntleted hand casually on her sword's hilt out of habit, "Florina wanted to stay with her sister's tonight." Priscilla smiled and stood, smoothing her skirt and taking her intricate staff. "I'd like that, milady."

Serra watched Lyn and Priscilla leave and shut the door before curling under the heavy wool and fur blankets of the bed. They were exceptionally warm and comfortable, after spending the last three days on Mark's horse and she glanced over at the still form of the enigmatic Mary Fenrir. The woman was breathing more regularly, a good thing, but she was still about as moving as a cadaver.

"Rather homely looking, aren't you?" muttered Serra dryly, "Nothing like a lady like myself." She smiled as she curled next to her pillow, asleep within seconds.

Two rooms away from Serra's, Eliwood scowled darkly as he tried to sleep. He found himself unable to do so with all the thoughts buzzing around in his head. Not only was he still unable to block the image of that man's head blown clean to pieces from his odd weapon, but he couldn't stop hearing the pleading, begging words of that young woman when he was unable to do much more then stare at her blankly.

Hector was in the bed next to him, out cold the second after his head had hit the pillow and snoring like a wounded animal. Normally, he could deal with the snoring, but tonight it kept him awake. Eliwood rubbed his shadowed eyes and looked out the window to the white landscape beyond. The mountains of Bern loomed ominously overhead, glaring down on the world beneath and the small village at the mountain's base was as deserted as a graveyard in daytime.

Resigning himself to the fact he wasn't going to sleep at all without doing something first, Eliwood stood and grabbed his rapier's scabbard from the room's small table. Maybe he could practice outside, wear himself out and then go to bed. Yeah, that'd work, and it wouldn't take too long in his condition.

The cold winter air was sharp as he stepped out into the inn's gardens, if you could call the dead flowerbeds and leafless trees 'gardens'. It was deserted, though, not that he had minded company. He unsheathed the thin sword, examining his pale, tired reflection in the silver blade for a second before gripping it tightly and thrusting, cutting the air sharply.

It felt good to exercise his tired arms and legs, after spending so many days on his stallion's saddle. It was difficult to move in the snow, though, so his footwork was sluggish and painfully slow. On the battlefield, it'd cost him – if not his life – a good amount of blood. Eliwood stepped backwards and thrust again, wincing at the slight pain that entered his stiff arm.

The Pherean stood straight for a minute, cracking his stiff neck and turning towards the inn. He'd felt eyes on the back of his neck for a few minutes and now turned to see who his spectator was.

It was the red haired girl, clutching her overcoat tightly to her body with a very tight grip. She was standing at the door with her eyes wide in amazement, her face blank and mouth agape slightly. She didn't look too well, there was a slight flush to her pale cheeks that suggested a fever and there was a sleepy look to her face.

"Hello," he said kindly, smiling and waving slightly though he knew she wouldn't understand. She widened her eyes fearfully and tugged at her overcoat's collar so it pressed firmly against her neck. "Reredrum," she said coldly, backing away, "Re'uoy a reredrum."

Without another word, she turned and fled back into the inn, shutting the door harshly behind her. Eliwood blinked for a second and went back to his practice, trying to focus his mind on other things.

_**I do not own Fire Emblem, Nintendo does. I own all original characters.**_


	2. Casulties

**_Movement II_**

_**Casualties**_

Although it was evident that every soldier would have liked a longer stay at the mountain village, Eliwood and his army were on the road again after only two days rest; mostly to just find the Shrine and be done with it for good. Though the thought was logical, that didn't stop the narrow eyes that followed Mark wherever he went.

The army's newest add-on – whom Lyn had identified as Mary Fenrir – rode with Kent in absolute silence. She kept fingering her silver pendent and looking edgily at the sword strapped to Kent's side and the lance threaded through his horse's saddle. The Caelin Cavalier seemed undisturbed by her presence, though he did his best to keep her comfortable on the saddle.

"What do you think of our guest?"

Eliwood blinked, snapping out of his train of thought and turning to face Hector. The Ostian lord ling scowled darkly at his redhead friend and sighed heavily from atop his black stallion. "What did you say? I was just thinking . . ." Eliwood replied with a small smile, which in turn only deepened Hector's scowl.

"What do you think of that girl? Mary, was it?" Eliwood sneaked a glance towards Mary and Kent, watching as the woman shivered violently and clutched her locket tightly with two hands. She was still very pale and sickly looking, keeping her eyes shut most of the time. When her garnet eyes were open, they were filled with a sort of horror and terror he couldn't comprehend. Had they given her any reason to fear them, after saving her from that man?

"Something isn't right about her. It's like . . . she's afraid of us," muttered Eliwood dryly, turning back to look at Hector, "She moves and acts like she thinks we're going to kill her at any second."

Hector nodded and shot a glance back towards her. "Serra was whining earlier about how she can't sleep with her in the room. Keeps mumbling in her sleep, crying even, least that's what she says." The small amount of sarcasm in his friend's words brought a small smile to Eliwood's lips, though it didn't last long. He cast another side look at her, only to find that she was looking back at him with pure, unaltered fear in her gaze. He quickly turned his head to look away.

Eliwood fell silent as he stared up at the clear cerulean sky above them. It was about midday, and the surrounding fields of white snow and hills had been as quiet as the grave for the past few hours. It was unnerving, and quite eerie to be exact. Sure, their continued travel over the past few days had been filled with silence too, but never had it been so horrid as today's.

". . . Have you ever heard anything like her language before? I caught her saying a few words this morning and it's like she's muttering insanely. You know, like a made-up language or something."

Eliwood shook his head, flexing his fingers beneath their leather gloves. "It's nonsense to me. Though . . ." An idea hit him like a stack of bricks and he flashed a thin smile towards his blue-haired friend, "Though if Lady Lyndis could read what was written in her locket, then maybe . . ."

"She can read and write in Lycian?" Hector supplied, shrugging slightly, "Possibility, but it isn't high on my list of necessities. We must be pretty close to the Shrine, after all this traveling."

"Most likely." The Pherean clutched his rapier out of anxiety and sighed bitterly. "I keep thinking we're going to walk right into a trap," he commented desperately. Hector's smirk flickered. "So do I, but who's left to lead the Black Fang troops? Sonia's dead, Linus' dead, and anybody else capable of doing that job is dead to."

". . . I'm sure they have someone left," muttered Eliwood beneath his breath, so Hector couldn't hear him. They lapsed into silence for a while, and Eliwood's thoughts on that of the army's current state. If there was an ambush at the Shrine on en route to it, would they be able to survive without casualties? They had gone this long without any death; that was true, but still . . .

He gave an inward sigh and looked up at the opaque winter sky. The sparse white clouds against the pale blue background gave the impression of upcoming snow, which would only reduce travel by another day at least. Eliwood glared darkly at the clouds as though they were the source of all his recent problems. Soon, he hoped, his father would be avenged and this nightmare would end . . .

"L-Lord Eliwood!"

He glanced up in time to see a mass of white horse hair and feathers land on the ground, its rider a small-built girl with curly lavender hair. Florina of Ilia was clutching her Pegasus' reigns very tightly as if they'd fall away if she loosened her grip. Her elder sister Fiora landed behind her and the elder of the two sister's sighed heavily before speaking to Eliwood and Hector in a voice of forced calm.

"Milords, up above . . . in the path, we saw the Shrine of Seals Lord Athos spoke of."

A smile cracked across Hector's face, but Eliwood spoke to Fiora before she or Florina had a chance to continue. "What's wrong? Are there Black Fang stationed up ahead?"

Florina's pale cheeks went paler as she spoke in a whispery voice. "Worse . . . Much worse . . ."

"What could be worse then Black Fang? Is it Nergal himself?" came Lyndis' voice, the Lady of Caelin riding up quickly and looking at her Ilian friend in sympathy and shock. Fiora pointed a long finger ahead of her, where the trees were beginning to thin and the faint outline of a stream was to be seen and kept her voice calm.

"Milord Eliwood, there must have been a massacre at the Shrine. I don't think anybody was left alive and all we could see were Black Fang bodies."

"They didn't bring down any of their killers," said Lyn in surprise, digging her heels into her Sacaen mare's thighs so the horse shot forward, darting quickly through the trees. Not far behind her were her fellow lords, anxiety building inside Eliwood's chest and constricting his breathing, on par with the riding speeds of Kent and Sain. Mary was clutching tightly to Kent's waist, her eyes wide as the wind blew her short hair into her face.

Lyn nearly jumped out her saddle when the sound of breaking bone met her ears. She pulled backwards and looked down, seeing that her mare's hooves had crushed a man's hand. The Black Fang member (as evident by his red-trimmed black clothing) was lying flat on the ground in a puddle of blood, with an arm and a leg torn from his remaining torso. His crushed hand had been clutching a sword whose blade had been snapped neatly into two and his face, with skin stained red-brown by blood, had no eyes any longer.

"By Mother Earth . . ." swore Lyn, looking ahead of her at the other corpses on the ground. All of them were dismembered in some way, though from what she could see most of them had lost their eyes as well. Next to her, Kent looked at the assassin's body while shaking his head in disgust.

"What sort of man does that?" he asked hoarsely, then looked behind him as Mary stumbled off of the horse and looked at the man's body with the color draining from her face and eyes widening in purest horror.

"Ho on, ho Stnias on . . . Ton niaga . ." she said, holding her arms tightly. She looked like she might be sick again. Lyn dismounted and moved towards an archer's body, thrown against a tree trunk's base. The archer – a young woman whose hair color and skin couldn't be distinguished by all the blood – had her heart and eyes torn out and deep gouge marks across her stomach and arms, as if made by some beast's claws.

"No man did this," she commented to Eliwood, the Pherean eyeing the archer with pained sickness in his blue gaze. He shook his head.

He caught sight of Lord Mark, the tactician's Nabatan tan-skin a blotchy pale, recoil on his horse at the sight of the two bodies, and the many that had fallen around them. He drew a shaky breath. "Marcus, Isadora!" he snapped, turning in time to see the two Pherean Knights approach quickly behind them, "Go see if you can find any survivors, any damn clue to what caused this . . . this . . ." He struggled to find words and, when finding none, merely shook his head.

"Yes milord!" said Marcus with a curt nod, his stallion carrying him off to the left. Isadora nodded as well, though she went to the right. Harken, who rode with her, withdrew his sword with a blank face as he viewed the carnage. Lyn looked again at the two bodies she had already seen and unsheathed the Mani Katti with a snap of metal against leather.

"Let's just ride ahead," said Hector, averting his gaze from the archer's mangled corpse, "Find the Shrine and . . . and maybe somebody will be able to tell us what in Saint Elimine's name happened here."

Mark nodded. "Split into teams, nobody travels alone. Got it?" Lyn nodded, as did all those soldiers in his sight. Mark himself inhaled heavily and turned around to inform the remainder of their large force his message.

"I tem a nam ni trop alliv . . . esohw eman I reven wenk . . ."

Singing, was it? Lyndis turned her head around, her ponytail snapping around her waist as she did so. Mary was knelt down on the ground, holding her shoulders with one arm and drawing in the dirt with her fingers. Her sketching was mainly arcane ruins and gibberish, their meaning unknown to Lyn, and probably nothing of importance.

"I tem a nam ni trop alliv esohw eman I reven wenk. Sala, I tem a reredrum, htiw reipar ni dnah. Sih seye erew tfos, I reven wenk, sih tsriht rof doolb os teews. Os toh ti llef nopu eht htrae dna ni ym evarg, I peew . . ."

"Leave her," said Hector as Eliwood turned to try and comfort her, "We've got bigger problems to deal with."

The Pherean nodded and motioned his horse forward, deeper into the forest and into the heart of the fighting that seemed to have taken place not too long ago, judging from the smell of the blood and the state of the bodies. They had not yet begun to decompose and they were still covered in sticky, moist blood that was only starting to dry. He placed their deaths at only a few hours ago, maybe three at the most.

The corpses were piled in odd patterns, Eliwood noted unpleasantly, as if they had been arranged in an intricate design. All, though, showed no signs of being killed by any sort of weapon. There were deep gashes and gaping holes in their bodies, with organs strewn near the cadavers, though it all appeared to have been done by some sort of animal starved for food. His heart fell rapidly.

Had Nergal managed to resurrect the dragons? Was this the result of draconian power, a sample of what would happen?

Something flickered under the dead body of a black Wyvern who bore the royal insignia of Bern's Sky Brigade. Eliwood withdrew his rapier sharply and Hector dismounted, his Wolf Beil drawn as he kicked over the bloodied corpse of the flying lizard. A woman lay curled beneath, her shivering hands holding onto a lance whose tip was stained with blood.

"Isn't that the Wyvern Rider from Bern Castle?" asked Eliwood, dismounting and leaning down to check the woman for any signs of life. She flinched violently at his touch and jerked backwards, opening blurred eyes with burgundy irises.

"You . . .!" she said, blood trickling from her lips and voice raspy, "What . . . you . . ."

"Hold on a second, we'll get help," Eliwood said, and then turned to Hector, "Help me with her, we have to get her to Priscilla or Serra."

Hector raised an eyebrow, opened his mouth as if to object and closed it, thinking better of it. He held the Wyvern Rider in his arms, though it was clear she objected to the treatment. Her body was scratched and scarred, staining her skin the same shade of red as her armor, and one of her legs dangled in an odd position, and bits of mussel and bone were visible beneath the ruined skin.

"Damn it to hell, what happened to you?" swore Hector, gently laying the woman on his horse so as not to incite more pain to her. The woman – Eliwood vaguely remembered her name being Vaida – looked at him and narrowed her gaze half-heartedly.

"Judgment . . ." she said through gritted teeth, threading her gloved fingers through the horse's mane, "Against . . . sinners, they said . . . Powerful . . . Judgment . . ." She spat out a mouthful of blood and spit, coughing onto her lance's stained tip, "Over there . . . One single corpse . . . One to one hundred . . ."

The Pherean prince's sapphire gaze followed where Vaida's shaking gesture, looking upwards in the branches of the tree. A mangled body, clad in a strange uniform of green and black fabric, lay among the branches. It was a young man; with sharply cut blonde hair, lifelessly pale skin and blind eyes wide open. In his hand – gloved with tanned leather – was a strange sort of weapon. With a jolt, Eliwood remembered where he had seen that small black weapon before.

It was identical to the one that Mary's assailant had used to blow his own head off, if not a little bigger and sleeker.

"One casualty compared to one hundred . . . By Saint Elimine," swore Eliwood, shaking his head. Hector swung his axe over his head, cutting the branch and bringing down the soldier clad in the strange uniform. Upon closer look, he could identify the cause of death, three arrows to the heart and two to the neck, though no blood was drawn to stain the soldier's immaculate uniform.

"I'll go forward, you bring this Wyvern Rider to a healer and question her about this situation," said Hector in a harsh voice, kicking the corpse and lolling the dead man's head around violently.

Eliwood nodded and remounted his horse, slipping his rapier into its scabbard. He took the reigns of Hector's stallion and lead it forward, back towards where the remainder of his army had been located.

Lord Uther's brother knelt down to the man's corpse, taking the black weapon from his hand and looking intently at the blank, pale face of the cadaver. "Now what could this bastard be doing in the Shrine of Seals?" he asked, navy eyes on the sightless white eyes and open mouth, revealing perfectly even teeth and healthy gums. His gaze remained on the face until something silver glimmered at the neckline of the uniform, which Hector grabbed with the hilt of his axe.

It was a necklace, in which a perfectly round silver pendent hung on a polished silver chain. It matched Mary Fenrir's necklace, down to the engravings and foreign mechanics on the inside. His brow furrowed and he snatched up the necklace, starring at it and frowning.

"Looks like this Fenrir girl's going to answer our questions."

Behind him, something metal clicked and he heard a woman's cracking, bizarrely accented voice speak.

"Drop the pocket watch an' axe, an' I might not blow out yer brains govna'."

* * *

Priscilla, who was being kept behind the river by both an armed Raven and Lucius, gave a small yelp when she saw whom Lord Eliwood was leading on Lord Hector's black stallion. She grabbed her staff immediately and then her tome of Anima magic, recognizing the blonde woman as a royal soldier of Bern. Mary Fenrir, who had been sitting on the ground hugging her knees, looked up as well and screamed at the sight of the bloodied Wyvern Rider.

"My liege, what . . .?" she questioned as Eliwood dismounted and hurried towards her.

"Lady Priscilla, she's the only survivor we've found and probably has the only answers," he said quickly, stumbling over some of the words. Priscilla didn't need telling twice and reached over her brother's shoulder to tap the woman's arm with her staff's orbed top.

"Recover," she commanded and the woman's deformed leg mended, leaving nothing but a gnarled scar to show it had been injured previously. The Bern woman climbed off the horse and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Thank you, Eturian," she said quickly, "And you, Pherean." She turned to Eliwood and slipped her lance in the holster at her back. Her voice was desperate and caught almost all of them off guard. "Get out of here, now. Your army's going to be slaughtered."

"By what?" asked Lucius delicately, clutching his bishop's staff and holy book, "We've fought and beaten many dangerous opponents."

Vaida shook her head quickly, then stopped and clutched her temple in pain. "Just get your men the hell out of this area! These bastards here . . . they aren't human! They're monsters and they will eat your men! They can't die!"

Eliwood's face drained of all coloring and ran his hands distractedly through his uncombed hair. His eyes widened viciously hard as he realized he had left Hector, alone, with the corpse of one of these cannibalistic non-humans. If they couldn't die, then it was possible that that blonde soldier could . . .

"Saint Elimine . . . Damn it! Come on!" he hastily mounted his horse and dug his heels into the flanks. The stallion immediately followed his master's command and fled off. Priscilla turned to Raven and Lucius, both mounting their own horse and following after their employer. Vaida scowled and managed to climb on with Priscilla's mare just in time, so that three women were riding on the Eturian horse (Mary had taken her place between Priscilla and Vaida.)

Hector, who had not yet dropped either his axe or the strange necklace, turned slowly to look at the woman who had threatened him. He nearly burst into laughter at the sight of the scrawny figure, dressed in no armor but a uniform similar to the soldier's at his feet, though hers was more elaborate. She was about two and a half heads shorter then him, with black-purple ringlets and large eyes that were alight with madness and a genius sparkle. She smelt of cheap perfume and alcohol, the latter of which was present in her eyes and dazed smile. Her thin fingers clutched the same sort of black weapon that the dead soldier, though hers seemed of a better quality then the soldier's.

The woman grinned and made the odd clicking sound again, using one finger and her odd weapon. "Now, now govna', ya don't wanna make me shoot this 'ere gun an' kill ya, now do ya? Just give me dat dere pocket watch an' I'll be on my way, jus' like dat." She pushed up the odd spectacles she wore and chuckled lightly. "I've got me own fish waitin' in da fryer, ya know? Lookin' fer me employer's charm, ya know?"

He raised an eyebrow and looked at the woman again, snorting in laughter when he saw an identical necklace (or 'pocket watch' as they seemed to be called) around the woman's neck as well. "Why do you need this one if you have your own, _milady?"_ he added mockingly.

"Da name be Lady-General Clockwork, govna', an' I dun think yer in any position ta ask me question with dis 'ere gun at yer head, eh? Sides, dat dere pocket watch belongs ta da Miz Mary 'ereself, an' she don't want nobody ta be usin' here things wit'out her permission, savvy?"

Hector shook his head in annoyance. This 'Lady-General Clockwork' woman was really starting to irritate him, with the way she talked and her stench. She raised an eyebrow and steadied the hand holding her weapon with her left, drumming long nails against her skin.

"I dun think ya made da right choice govna'," she said smoothly, grinning, "Say gud-night."

She tightened her grasp on the gun, as she called her odd weapon, and a crack rent the air, louder then snapping bone.

_**I do not own Fire Emblem, Nintendo does. I own all original characters.**_


	3. Rose

**_Movement III_**

_**Rose**_

The tree behind him snapped cleanly in half, falling down to separate Hector and Clockwork from one another. The ends of the severed trunk were smoking, and splinters of wood had flown in every direction. Whatever her gun had shoot off, he knew he shouldn't be on the receiving end of it. He stood straight again (he had ducked down at the last minute to avoid her shot) and clutched his Wolf Beil tightly.

"Bloody hell, I missed me mark," Clockwork swore, narrowing her eyes and sighing exasperatedly, "Aw come on govna', I gotta give Miz. Mary her lil' flower. Jus' give me da pocket watch, pwetty pwease govna'?"

Hector held up the pocket watch and grinned, thinking of a plan. He slipped the pendent into his palm and began to squeeze it, causing the metal to bend. He didn't think it was that shoddily made (he really wasn't putting that much stress on it), though it certainly did get Clockwork to drop her gun and yell in fright.

"Wot ya doin'!" she screeched, "Ya'll . . .!"

"Unless you tell me what, in Saint Elimine's Holy name, happened here, I'll crush your precious pocket watch," he said smoothly, releasing his hold a little bit on the watch. The edges were scraped up and dented inward. Clockwork narrowed her eyes behind her spectacles and swore in a foreign language that sounded like the one Mary Fenrir spoke in.

"Dey resisted," she grumbled angrily, kneeling down and picking up her gun, "An' me battalion be hungry. Ain't eaten in a few days, not since dem deer been caught when wes got here. Can't let 'um go hungry too long, less dey turn on their ol' general." She tapped her chest importantly and brushed a few splinters off her uniform's epaulette. "So I let dem have their meal, ain't dat big a deal, ain't it?"

He ground his teeth tightly together, trying not to show his horrified surprise at her words. It explained why the assassins had organs torn from them, limbs missing and deep gouge marks all around their wounds. "Your men _ate _the Black Fang?"

"Couse dey did, ya ain't expectin' me ta feed them summin' wasteful, like cows o' anything like dat? Dem deer be bad enuf, nearly caused a rebellion when I gave it ta dem. Nah, dem gotta have good food, good blood govna'."

"Why were you here? What purpose did you have to kill these men!" the Ostian snapped, dangling the pocket watch so that Clockwork's eyes flickered back and forth like a cat's following a piece of string. He wanted so much to swing his axe and chop her stupid grinning head off, but he needed answers and was trying to keep his infamous temper down.

"Lookin' fer a wil' flower gone from da garden," she said, curling a lock of hair around two of her fingers, "Dere's a gal who stole Miz. Mary's personal pocket watch, an' she ain't gonna be too pleased if I don't get it back ta her."

He tightened his grip on the watch again and asked the one question that had been on his mind since Eliwood and Lyndis had brought that redhead girl to their army. "Who is Mary Fenrir?"

Clockwork chuckled darkly, shaking her head. "Miz. Mary, eh? Keep forgettin' ya'll never heard o' da Great Miz. Mary." She pushed back her slipping spectacles and clicked her gun again. "It is by Miz. Mary's orders dat dese heretics fell today, since I gotta get back 'er pocket watch less I loose me alcohol, an' I be no good when I ain't drunk on tequila and ale."

Although she cleared her throat in a clear sign that she was going to continue, she was stopped suddenly by the sound of an Eturian female shouting out a single spell – one that set aflame the dry ground at Clockwork's feet and caught the hem of her dusty coat.

Swearing heavily, Clockwork tried to stamp out the fire and avoid the swing of a burgundy-eyed mercenary's sword. Hector turned to see Eliwood leading a small group of soldiers from their forces – Raven, Priscilla and Lucius, along with the blonde Wyvern Rider they had found and the enigmatic Mary Fenrir.

Lucius fingered his holy book and opened his mouth to shout the enchantment, but Clockwork quickly grabbed the blonde soldier who still lay at the ground and flipped open the pocket watch she wore around her neck.

In a second, both were gone as if they had never existed.

"By Saint Elimine's grace, what . . .?" asked Lucius weakly, dropping his thin fingers and shaking his head. Hector scowled darkly and turned to look at Eliwood with narrowed eyes.

"I was just about to get some answers out of that bitch!" he snapped, slipping his grip on the pocket watch so that he held it by the chain, "It was her battalion that killed everyone here!"

The Wyvern Rider snorted and dismounted from Priscilla's horse. "Be glad that she escaped then, oaf; if she was anything like her troops, we'd be burying your worthless body now."

Hector shot a glare at her but turned towards Mary Fenrir, his teeth clenched as he snapped to her. "The Great Miss Mary, 'eh?"

Mary gulped and stumbled off the horse, blood fading from her pallid cheeks and eyes widening. "On, on, ton em!" she babbled to no avail. Eliwood's blue eyes narrowed sharply and he dismounted, drawing his rapier. She screamed again but he merely was using the sword to scratch words into the ground.

_Can you read this? Nod if yes._

Clutching her silver necklace, her pocket watch Hector now knew, she backed away frantically, showing no signs that she had understood the message. Eliwood sighed heavily and erased what he had previously written with the heel of his boot. "We need to regroup," he said weakly, running a hand through his blazing hair, "Find Lady Lyn and Mark and . . . and figure out what's going on."

"Excuse me," interrupted the Wyvern Rider before anybody else could reply to the Pherean, "Is there a place in your army for me? I will earn my keep with my spear."

"We've no place for a crippled traitor," said Raven harshly, sheathing his heavy blade, "What good's a Wyvern Rider with a dead Wyvern?"

Her cheeks remained uncolored and it was only her narrow glare that showed she acknowledged Raven's insult. Eliwood, however, nodded to her. "Our tactician will decide," he said simply, which was enough of an answer for Vaida.

"I will go search out Lady Lyndis," said Priscilla, ending the edgy silence as she adjusted her place in her saddle, "And we will regroup at the Shrine itself. That seems the best course of action, doesn't it?"

Eliwood nodded and turned to Mary. She swallowed nervously, bottom lip trembling. "Mary?" he asked her softly and she quickly shook her head, widening her eyes to an impossibly large quality.

"R-Rose," she chocked, pointing to herself, "I ma Rose."

* * *

Lyndis of Caelin stared as Hector finished telling her of his account with Lady-General Clockwork – the strange, spectacled woman whose battalion had been the one to lay siege on the Shrine of Seals. The Sacaen gripped the Mani Katti and spoke in a voice of controlled, forced calm.

"So this girl's name is Rose, not Mary Fenrir?" she asked, looking out of the corner of her eye at the bundle of black clothing that slept on the steps of the Shrine. She had collapsed there about two hours ago, before sunset even. Now, though, the sky was painted with rich pastel shades. Usually, this would be the time when the army would have dinner, though nobody felt like eating with the sight and smell of half-eaten corpses everywhere in the area. Eliwood nodded, rubbing his temple with two fingers.

"They all have the same necklace; Rose, that soldier and even Clockwork have that damnable pocket watch," said Hector darkly, fingering the silver pocket watch he had taken from the soldier's corpse, "And Clockwork screamed when I tried to crush it."

"Give me," said Lyn harshly, snatching the watch from Hector's hands before he could retaliate. It was no longer perfectly round; there were five dents around the edge that clearly defined Hector's fingers, though the insides seemed unaffected.

" 'Property of Miss Mary Fenrir,'" read Lyndis, rubbing the inscription on the inside and tapping her fingers against the glass on the inscription's opposite, "Who is this Mary Fenrir if it isn't that redhead!"

"I bet that Rose girl has the answer," snapped Hector, standing and taking a step over towards her still form, "And she's going to tell us now."

"Let her sleep," said Eliwood firmly, "She screams at the sight of a sword, so waking her isn't going to give us answers; just a frightened girl."

Lyn sighed and brought her knees up to her chest, "She screamed at the sight of a sword? That's . . ."

"Odd? Of course it is, everything about her is odd!"

Eliwood held up a hand, frowning and turning to look at Rose's body. "She's saying something . . . In Lycian, though, listen."

Lyn strained her ears, standing and listening to what words were being spoken in a hushed, snappish tone unlike the high voice which Rose had so far only spoken in.

"The Marquess' bloodline . . . perfect like them . . ." she inhaled sharply, "Would you not say so, Timekeeper, that this childe is identical to . . . Poison like the kind in my veins, Lady-General, as given by my Spectre with the serpent . . ." She hugged her knees and began to cry softly in her sleep, speaking again in her odd, foreign language.

"'The Marquess's bloodline?' What on Earth could that mean?" asked Lyn through her teeth, slipping the Mani Katti a half an inch out of its scabbard.

Hector was swiftly striding towards Rose's body, his eyes narrowed. He knew that she would answer their questions and it would do them no good to wait for her to get a good night's sleep. His metal-clad hand gripped her shoulder and he shook her violently, swinging her head around like a rag doll.

"Wake up!" he snapped, though Rose refused to wake. Her bottom lip trembled slightly in sleep, but her eyes remained firmly shut and her breathing slow and even.

"I would let her sleep, child of Roland."

Eliwood recognized the voice immediately; there was only one person who had that odd dialect that was filled with ancient wisdom – Lord Athos of Nabata. Immediately, the Pherean got to his feet and bowed to the man who had appeared out of nowhere by their side.

Lord Athos, with his flowing silver beard and hair, looked disturbed slightly as he inclined his head to Eliwood, Lyn and Hector and his aged fingers readjusted themselves on the thick red tome of Anima magic he carried with him.

"I see you have found the corpses left by those sub-humans," said Athos softly, keeping his dark eyes focused intently on Eliwood's pallid face, "And I am afraid to say I know very little about them myself."

"What do you know, Your Excellency?" asked Lyn softly, still holding her partially unsheathed blessed sword, "All we know is that these monsters serve under a woman called Clockwork."

". . . They are not human, not at all," said the Archsage, "I could feel their evil from Nabata, they are similar, but not identical, to Nergal's morphs."

"Morphs?"

"They are empty vessels created by Nergal's hands," explained Athos calmly, though it was his eyes that showed the unbridled hatred for such synthetic creatures, "You have met two of them already – Ephidel at the Dragon's Gate, and Sonia, whom you fought in the Water Temple almost one month ago."

Eliwood recalled the jet-haired woman's sneering golden eyes and magical power that had cracked even hard marble. He shivered slightly and, subconsciously, rubbed his left arm – which had been hit partially by one of her ice spells and remained numb for days afterwards.

"I do not know how they came to be on Elibe or what they quest for, but if you encounter them again, do not fight them. You have seen their actions at this Shrine; they consume human flesh and blood and do not perish."

Lyn shut her eyes slightly but remained steady. Hector, however, appeared undisturbed.

"Why were we supposed to come to the Shrine in the first place?" he asked snappishly of the Archsage, earning a sharp glare and silent chastisement from Lyndis.

"Ah, yes, I came here for that reason. There is an old friend I would like you to meet, who is needed to defeat Nergal before he can release the dragons."

Eliwood nodded and felt a rush of adrenaline at the world went black before his eyes. Slowly, his vision came back in blotches as his heart beat steadied (it had raced at the sudden shock), and he was treated with the image of a temple-like cavern, with high ceilings and a thick, dank smell different from mold and decay.

Slight breathing made him turn around, hand reaching for his rapier, only to be greeted with a slight figure clad in a silken cloak and a face barely visible beneath the large hood.

"It's good to see you, old friend," said Athos softly, though his voice echoed in the temple's empty room.

Above ground, at the campsite by Bern's magnificent Shrine of Seals, a woman clad in turquoise silk shivered violently against the winter cold, though she was warmed by a fur-lined cloak and a fire not five feet from her.

Nils turned to look at his sister, puzzled at her fearful look as she held on tight to the edges of her cloak. "Did you sense something?" he asked quietly, examining Ninian's pale features. He hadn't felt anything at all, but his sister had most of his power in addition her already stronger ones.

"Danger . . . From far away," she whispered so that only he could hear, drawing her knees to her chest and hugging them tightly. Her crimson eyes were misted, as if deep in concentration, "It is similar to Nergal's yet . . . Don't you feel anything?"

He shook his head, moving to grip his flute out of pure reflex. Ninian gave a weary smile that didn't last long. None of her smiles ever lasted too long. "It feels ethereal, as if it does not belong on this earth," she continued delicately, "Strong, determined . . ."

". . . You should tell Lord Eliwood when you have the chance. I'm sure he's asleep by now," said Nils softly, "And you should to."

She shook her head. "The smell of blood is too strong here," Ninian explained, though she did move towards the small tent that she and her brother shared. Nils smiled at his sister.

"Who knows what tomorrow will bring?" he said sagely, "We should rest incase its worse then now."

Ninian nodded and finally stood to enter the tent. "You should follow your own advice," she said sisterly to him, and Nils followed her into the warmth of their small tent. He fell asleep almost immediately upon touching his sleeping cot, though Ninian sat cross-legged and misty eyed, trying to ease the tension that was building in her heart.

It was almost dawn before she fell asleep, and her dreams were of little comfort. They spoke of a wedding, a beauteous occasion in the summertime, though all of the guests were dead and the bride lay bloodied in her wedding dress, eyes and heart torn out like the Black Fang at the Shrine of Seals.

_**I do not own Fire Emblem, Nintendo does. I own all original characters.**_


	4. Pherae

**_Movement IV_**

_**Pherae**_

It was midday already, the winter sun a blinding beacon of light in the opaque sky. By now, the smells of blood, human flesh and death had left the army back at the Shrine. They had departed early in the day, so they could leave that damnable place and continue on Lord Athos' orders – to return to Ostia and search out the resting place of Roland's legendary sword. Most of the soldiers, particularly the ones who heralded from Lycia and Ostia, were eager to be rid of Bern's demonic forests and winter.

Eliwood of Pherae was jerked out of his thoughts quite suddenly at the sound of teeth chattering and a young boy's soft voice speak questioningly. His eyes met upon the shivering form of Ninian, one hand holding the reigns of Lyn's mare that she and her younger brother both rode upon while her left, ringed hand held her fur cloak tight to her pale, silk-clad body. There was a woolen scarf around her neck as well and gloves hiding her hands, so the only skin shown was on her brow and cheeks.

"Are you alright?" he asked suddenly, pulling back on his horse so that he fell even with the green-haired girl. She turned her haunting eyes to him and forced a small smile, though her teeth were still clattering together due to cold.

"I-I am-m fine, L-Lor-Lord Eli-Eliwood," she said softly, forcing one of her rare smiles, "Just cold . . ."

He raised an eyebrow. It was noon, the sun was out and most of the snow in this particular part of the woodlands was barely covered in powdery snow. He had taken off his own cloak, since his tunic provided more then enough warmth to make due with.

"Are you sure nothing is bothering you?" Eliwood asked, not to sound like he was prying too much, "You seem too pale to be just annoyed by cold weather."

Nils looked at his sister warily, chewing his bottom lip and finally speaking on his sibling's behalf. "Ninian has had . . . apprehension for a few hours, since when you spoke with Lord Bramimond last evening. She didn't sleep well."

A slight spasm of anxiety and fear wretched his heart. He knew Ninian could foretell danger, hell, he wouldn't be alive right now if she couldn't sense mortal peril, and to hear that the arcane dancer had felt apprehension the night after they'd arrived at the scene of a massive slaughter wasn't the greatest thing he could have heard. Out of the corner of his eye, he looked over to Merlinus' caravan, where Rose had taken refuge amongst the food and supplies.

Coloring fled to the dancer's cheeks immediately. "I felt uneasy last evening," she explained, "But Nils could not feel anything and it passed quickly. It just was nerves, after seeing the Shrine in its state."

Eliwood sighed, not wanting to think about it. They had debated on whither of not they would bury the soldiers or leave them to vultures and other scavenger birds, but in the end Hector had won the argument and they had abandoned the corpses.

('Would they have done any different if it was us dead on those fields?' the Ostian lord-ling had barked in response to Mark's protests.)

Even though she had been a lesser fact of importance, Eliwood still found his aching mind think of that Lady-General Clockwork and what Hector had transferred from Clockwork to Eliwood, Lyndis and Mark late last night. None of the words had gone down too well with any of them.

Mark had sat brooding for several minutes, his brow and thick eyebrows furrowed as they always did when he was presented with a difficult situation. Lyndis had shut her eyes in intense concentration that had ended in an angry sigh and the Sacaen marching back to her tent in a silent fume and Eliwood had not been able to comprehend any of it, due to the aching migraine that couldn't leave his head alone.

The phrase 'It is by Miss. Mary's orders that these heretics fell today' was particularly unpleasant though it left one thing clear in all of their minds; this act was done by a religious madwoman. The thought made Eliwood's skin crawl, as it had when they had met with the heretic Kenneth over two months ago. Those who deal out horrible deeds in the name of religion weren't worthy of mercy, weren't worthy of any sort of pity or sympathy, which went against his instincts.

Eliwood shook his head, only adding more pain to his headache. It never seemed to go away these days. Ninian continued in a softer voice, as if sensing his mental pain.

"Perhaps we should stay longer at the next town we come to, so we can rest and draw together plans. It has been a tiring few weeks, and we should get as much rest as we can."

"Too risky," Eliwood answered, closing his eyes so that a particularly bright spot of sunlight wouldn't sting his eyes, "I won't put you two at risk by staying at an inn and letting the Black Fang catch up with us."

"We will be fine, Lord Eliwood," said Nils eagerly, "You, Lord Hector, Lyn and Mark have never let us be captured. Don't become too paranoid for our safety that you let yourself die of exhaustion."

Again, Eliwood sighed and turned his horse's path so that he ended up away from Ninian and Nils and closer towards Mark and Hector. The Ostian and Nabatan were arguing over something, and the topic fell to his ears when he drew closer.

". . . She knows something about that attack!" snapped Hector agitatedly, "And we need to find out what!"

"How could she possibly know something?" replied Mark, gripping his journal tightly. Eliwood had never seen the tactician without his leather-bound journal, in which he wrote down everything from battle plans to what he ate for breakfast. The peacock quill he wrote with, its plumage dull and faded and missing a good few feathers, was stuck in the middle as a bookmark. "She doesn't even speak the same language as that psychotic Clockwork woman you said!"

"That bitch said she was looking for a girl with a silver pocket watch," spat back Hector, narrowing his navy eyes, "Which is that silver pendent Rose or Mary or whatever her name is wears!"

"Maybe it's popular wherever they come from," said Mark icily, "Take one look at Rose and tell me, honestly, if she can be from Elibe with facial features like that?" He held up a hand and began to tick off characteristics. "Can't be Ilian; eyes are too violent and no Ilian has red hair like that, can't be Sacaen, Bern doesn't produce midgets like her, too thin and small to be from the Western Isles and too pale to be from Nabata. The only country I'd even consider her being from is Lycia, and, well, her face is too thin to be a Lycian woman."

"I'm going to have to take Mark's side on this one Hector," interjected Eliwood, wary of being at the butt of Hector's mounting temper, "She could have found that necklace somewhere, or could have been given it as a gift. There are too many variables, and I doubt that someone who flinches at a sheathed sword would steal something that incites an invincible battalion to chase after her."

Hector glared at his friend in anger. "And she couldn't possibly be a good actor? She couldn't possibly be paranoid because she's on the run?"

"Would you rather kill her and keep the pocket watch?" said Mark, the grip on his journal white-knuckled and tight, "Would that calm your nervousness?"

"Shut up, both of you!"

It was Lyndis. The Sacaen had been riding with Kent, since she had given up her own horse to the dancer and her brother, though now the swordswoman had dismounted and had one hand on her Mani Katti and one on the mahogany of her bow.

"We have no way of knowing whither or not this girl is guilty or innocent," the Caelin princess said icily, her long strides easily keeping up with their horses, "And until we can find more information about her, let's focus more importantly on stopping Nergal before Elibe is destroyed by dragons. Does that sound like a good idea?" she asked sarcastically, venom dripping from her words.

Even Hector got scared by Lyn when she spoke like that, though he did little to show it. Turning to look at the path ahead, the Ostian lord fell silent and Eliwood hid the smile on his face when he turned to Mark.

"We're about two days away from Pherae if we go at a faster pace," said Mark immediately, guessing Eliwood's thoughts correctly, "Maybe a day and a half if we ride without sleep."

"You can be the one to tell the army, then," said Lyn, a cruel sort of smile twisting her tan face, "That way you can deal with all of the resignation papers and pay all of them their checks out of your own pocket."

Mark's thick eyebrows met in a dark scowl and he gnashed his teeth together in an effort to calm down. "Oh? You would rather dawdle around and let them have their beauty rest while a madman gains more power to destroy the world?"

"We can't do anything without troops, O Brilliant Tactician."

Eliwood smiled and turned to the bickering Sacaen and Nabatan. "If they'll ride through tonight, tell them that we'll stay for three weeks in Pherae."

That silenced both of them in an instant. Lyn shook her head and her knight's stern voice answered in place of his charge. "Three weeks?" asked Kent, raising a copper eyebrow, "Is that the wisest course of action?"

"We need rest and supplies," explained Eliwood calmly, "And time to plan a strategy. It'll help us all, I'm sure of it."

"And you aren't worried that the Black Fang will attack Pherae?" asked Lyn. Eliwood gave a smile and a small chuckle.

"The day my father's castle is conquered is the day that Hector apologizes for being rude."

Pherae's capital city was exactly as Eliwood's memory of it, from the merchants and buyers haggling over prices to the sights of the blooming lilacs and gardenias in the gardens surrounding Castle Pherae. Many of the citizenry paused to look as the army moved through the city towards the castle, many of them grinning joyously and waving at the sight of the Marquess' only son and heir to his post.

In the back of the army, Wil and Rebecca looked pleased at being back in the city of their birth, though both Snipers were pale from lack of sleep. Rebecca tucked a stray lock of emerald hair behind her ear and adjusted herself in the saddle of her chestnut pony.

"Three weeks here," she said breathlessly, "It'll be like being back home, won't it Wil?"

Her childhood best friend looked at her and smiled to, though his was more strained. He had, after all, run away from home years ago without any word of explanation. "We'll probably spend most of the time getting supplies," he said, a depressing outlook compared to his usual optimism, "So I don't think we'll be able to send greetings to everyone we know."

"Don't be a spoilsport Wil," she said, unable to stop the smile creeping off her face. He grinned to, and looked eagerly at the upcoming figure of the Marquess' castle. Neither of them seemed to notice a slim, redheaded girl slip from Merlinus' caravan and dart out into the crowds of buyers and Phereans, clutching to her chest a stolen lance.

The guards at the gate of the castle immediately saluted upon seeing Eliwood's face and commanded that the drawbridge be lowered. Eliwood, for one, was looking forward to seeing his mother again after all this time away from home. He knew that Lady Elenora would throw a fit seeing him pale and thin, but it was better then the hordes of women who'd lately been only after his head.

Lyn was looking apprehensive as she followed Eliwood, Hector and Mark into the main hall of Castle Pherae. She was used to Castle Caelin, but she still felt out of place amidst the sweeping corridors decorated in red and blue of Eliwood's father's home, even though her friend had assured her that there was nothing to feel nervous about.

"I should really go and get supplies," said Mark testily, "I'm no good with nobility."

"So what does that make us Mark, farmers?" said Hector jokingly, though there was a look in his eyes that clearly told the tactician not to answer.

"Well, from the way you swing you're axe, I'd reckon blind woodcutter."

"I thought I recognized your voice Hector."

Lady Elenora, stewardess of Pherae in the absence of her son and widow to the late Lord Elbert, was sweeping down the halls at an alarmingly fast pace for a woman dressed in heavy skirts. Her deep indigo hair was tousled and her skin was pale, but she smiled widely and flung her arms around her son's thin shoulders.

"Saint Elimine blesses me, it's been so long Eliwood," she breathed, pulling away and looking at her son in the way that only a mother could do, "You've lost weight," she noted sullenly, "And you're so pale. I thought Sir Lowen and General Marcus would have made sure you ate correctly."

"It's good to see you to Mother," he said with a smile as Elenora turned to look at Hector, standing on tip-toe so that she was level with the Ostian's chin. "You haven't changed a bit Hector," she noted and looked to where Lyn and Mark stood warily.

"Ah, Lady Lyndis, Lord Mark," said Elenora with noticeably more formality then what she had used to address Eliwood and Hector, "It's good to see you two again, Eliwood spoke so highly of you when I last saw you."

Lyn bowed stiffly, Mark inclining his head in a jerk nod as if both of them were made of plywood. Elenora looked back to her son and tucked a lock of hair that had come loose back into her elaborate bun.

"Have you come to tell me your journey is over?" she asked hopefully. Eliwood shook his head.

"We're on our way to Ostia, but we're going to stay here for a few weeks to rest and gather supplies."

"That's good," responded the lady, though her voice had taken on a sullen quality, "Time to catch up on things. I do have something to ask of you to do, Eliwood, if you have the energy."

He raised an eyebrow and Mark leaned in curiously, tucking his journal away into the pocket of his long cloak. Elenora licked her lips and spoke softly. "A woman arrived this morning and asked to speak with the Marquess about urgent business. She says her name is Wolfhound, but she won't speak with me; just the Marquess."

"What does she want?" asked Eliwood quickly, hand moving instantly to his rapier. Elenora smoothed her long skirt and lead them down the hall without another word. Eliwood tried to calm his aching nerves.

It was odd, that a woman had appeared to speak with the Marquess the same day they arrived in Pherae, when it was quite common knowledge that the Marquess of Pherae had been dead for nearly four months now. This was also only a week after a bizarre siege in which the soldiers had not been killed. Were the events connected? At the very thought, his breath caught in his throat and he gripped the knuckle bar of his rapier very tightly.

The dining hall was immense and well cared for by the servants in the castle. The cherry table was high polished and not yet set for dinner, though now only one woman ate at the table. The hall's only occupants were two guards at the door and a thin, very short woman who leaned against a chair, examining her long nails.

Elenora cleared her throat and the unknown woman walked forward, bowing as she did so and smiling vacantly. She had almost lime green hair and brilliant hazel eyes, with skin made paler by the tangerine-orange coat she wore over a blue dress. In short, she presented the image of a very colorblind person.

"Are you the Marquess of Pherae?" she asked to Eliwood in a voice thick with a unique accent that made it hard to understand.

"You would be . . .?" asked Hector snappishly. The woman chose to ignore Hector and spoke only to Eliwood in a lofty, wavy sort of voice.

"My name is Fictor Volfhound," she said easily, though with her accent, she probably meant to say 'Victor Wolfhound.' He frowned. A woman named Victor? "I vant to know if you hafe seen this woman."

From the incised pocket of her coat, she drew out a small piece of paper and held it out so Eliwood could take it. It was a painting, a very detailed one painted on glossy parchment, of a young woman with long red hair and a black dress. She had a vaguely familiar look to her, and he realized with a jolt that woman in the portrait was.

"Why are you looking for this woman?"

Wolfhound raised an eyebrow. "So you hafe seen her?"

"Maybe," said Hector crossly, "What is her crime?"

"She has stolen a priceless item from my mistress, a necklace called a pocket vatch, and she has killed a relative to my mistress as vell. Her name is Roseland Fletcher, but she might be calling herself Rose Blackthorn."

Eliwood stared at the smiling girl in the portrait, holding in her hands a smooth wooden violin. Was she a killer and a thief and responsible for that attack on the Shrine of Seals? Had he really stood up for her just two days ago against accusations that were now proven correct?

"What is your mistress's name, Dame Wolfhound?" asked Eliwood casually, trying not to sound suspicious.

Wolfhound smiled and pulled her long braid back into a bun that lasted only a few seconds. "Her name is Mary Fenrir."

"Oh? Mary Fenrir?" asked Eliwood, shooting a sidelong glance at Hector, "I think I heard that name before." Wolfhound tilted her head on an angle in confusion. "Really? Lady Fenrir lifes across the ocean. I didn't think that anybody here on Elibe vould knov her."

"Well, we did meet somebody who said that one hundred men were _eaten _on orders of a '_Miss Mary Fenrir_.'"

Wolfhound's pale face went red in fury and she bore her teeth in a furious snarl. "Damn Clockvork!" she snarled and darted forward immediately, grabbing Elenora by the neck and drawing a stiletto knife from her braid. Lyn darted forward, Mani Katti drawn and quickly followed by Eliwood and Hector with their own weapons drawn. Eliwood was quicker, raising his rapier only to be greeted with a scream and flash of a silver blade.

Lady Elenora fell dead to the ground, eyes wide with fear as blood gathered in her mouth.

_**I do not own Fire Emblem, Nintendo does. I own all original characters.**_


	5. Insanity’s Speaker

_**Movement V**_

_**Insanity's Speaker**_

Eliwood dropped his rapier at the sight of his mother's fallen body, a strangled cry clogging his throat as the coloring faded from his face in sharp blotches. Neither Hector nor Lyn turned to him at once; they were busy trying to avenge Elenora as the two guards by the door raced forward to impale Wolfhound with their spears. He fell to the ground and gently pried the stiletto from his mother's throat, his fingers shaking as he traced the inscription on the blood-soaked blade.

_Property of Miss Mary Fenrir._

He clutched the blade tightly, not carrying that he was digging the sharp edges into his unprotected palm and splattering blood onto the floor. Eliwood couldn't feel anything right now; a numb sensation had taken place over all of his senses and thoughts.

His mother was dead.

Dead, like his father.

Murdered, like his father, leaving him orphaned and ravenous for revenge.

With a snarl twisting his face, he grabbed his fallen rapier and darted forward towards Wolfhound, yelling out every curse he knew. Both Hector and Lyndis turned immediately at the sight of the redhead Pherean sprint forward and slam his rapier towards Wolfhound with accuracy sharpened by rage. The woman sidestepped the blow and gripped the blade tightly in her right hand, crimson blood spilling from her cut palm.

"Vhat pleasure there is in seeing the Marquess angry," she hissed, twisting her right arm and pulling the rapier out of Eliwood's grasp. She adjusted it so that it was in her hand and she assumed a defensive stance to block Lyndis' blow carelessly, "Hafe I touched a nerfe?"

Despite being unarmed, the Pherean lunged forward and kicked Wolfhound as hard as he could. Again, the woman gripped his ankle and threw him aside as easily as if he were a rag doll. He collided painfully with the table, winded and dazed, unable to stand without his knees buckling beneath him. Had she really thrown him that hard?

Lyn was easily aware that she wasn't up against a normal opponent. Wolfhound moved too quickly, too smoothly to be altogether human. It was as if she could anticipate all of their movements before they had even thought of them. With a roaring battle cry, Lyn jumped forward and brought the Sacaen blessed katana down upon Wolfhound, which the woman countered easily with a block by Eliwood's rapier and a swift kick to Lyn's ribs. There was a cracking noise and Lyn felt tears gather in her eyes as she fell to the ground. At least two, maybe three of her ribs were broken, and Wolfhound finished off the Sacaen by kicking her again in the chest, shattering another two ribs and sending Lyn spiraling across the ground.

Hector brought down his Wolf Beil and collided with Wolfhound, the first time that any of them had. Just as Eliwood was forcing himself back to his feet, he saw Wolfhound collapse with her head severed from her shoulders. They sat in silence for a moment, until the guards had carried out Elenora's corpse and were helping Lyndis out of the hall so her ribs could be treated. Lyn has shrugged off the guard's help and was hobbling out on her own, teeth ground together to keep herself from crying out in pain.

"Damn it to hell!" swore Mark, skirting quickly around the pools of blood and kicking over Wolfhound's corpse. Wrapped around her ankle was a silver chain, on which was suspended a silver pocket watch, "Who the crap are these people!"

Hector turned immediately to the remainder of the two guards. "You! Find this woman!" He grabbed the portrait that Wolfhound had dropped and thrust it into the soldier's hands. "Get her by any means necessary!" The soldier saluted and hurried out of the hall, as if eager to be gone.

"Vhat a silly boy you are."

Mark looked down and jumped backwards in fright, eyes widening and face draining of color. Wolfhound's headless corpse was moving on its own accord, slinking across the floor like a snake where her head had fallen. The hands felt around until they met with Wolfhound's head and gently lifted it back onto the bleeding stump of the neck. The skin closed and mended, so that Victor Wolfhound was turning to look at the two Lycian lord-lings with a massive smirk stretching her face.

"Do you think that you are dealing vith normality here?" she asked, reaching down and grabbing the chain wrapped around her ankle, "I vould have thought better of you all. No, no, I think I should reintroduce myself." She broke the chain and tossed aside Eliwood's rapier, smoothing down her stained coat front.

She flipped open her pocket watch, showing them the scratched glass and worn inscription inside. "I am Lady-Searcher Fictor Volfhound, head of the Letztes Bataillon und head of the Court of Her Holiness, Miss Mary Fenrir."

"Who is Mary Fenrir!" snarled Eliwood, breathing in sharp, uneven gasps, "What does she want, why did she order the deaths of those Black Fang!"

Wolfhound wound the small knob on the outside of the pocket watch, smiling knowingly. "Maybe if you can talk vith Roseland, you'll get some ansvers. Of course, I don't think that little urchin vill be able to ansver. I'll gife you a hint, Marquess." Her eyes twinkled as she drew a folded scrap of paper from her pocket and tossed it to her left. "This might explain vhat you'll be up against if you dare to oppose my mistress."

The pressed a knob on the edge of the pocket watch and was gone in a slight feeling of chilled air. Immediately, Eliwood grabbed her discarded note and smoothed it so he could read its contents. It was a portrait, a crude sketch done in red ink, of a young man with shaggy hair and haunted eyes. The caption beneath was written oddly, in sharp, jerky letters while the language was one that he couldn't decipher.

_Henry Ryder, rotius ot eht Sseddog fo Sciteneg, Retsinim Mary Fenrir_.

That name again . . . Mary Fenrir . . . Who was this woman that was the cause of so much trouble lately? Why did her vassals, both Clockwork and Wolfhound, cause unneeded death? Where did this Rose girl fit in?

Eliwood crumpled the note into his hand, shutting his eyes tightly and forcing his breathing to calm down. He didn't notice when Hector clasped his metal-clad hand down upon his shoulder and said in a brisk, emotionless voice that was his way of comforting grief.

"Why don't you go get some sleep? We'll deal with Roseland and the supplies . . ."

"I'm fine," he said, surprisingly cold and weak, jerking out of Hector's grasp, "I just need . . . need something to eat . . . I'll be fine . . ." Hector glared sharply at his smaller friend, gripping Eliwood's shoulder much tighter then was needed.

"Eliwood, you're in shock. A few hours of rest would do you well . . ."

"I said I'm fine!"

He forced himself out of Hector's grasp and lumbered dazedly out of the dining hall, his movements slow and sluggish as if he were a zombie. He couldn't even focus enough to pull the door open; he collided painfully with it and was pulled back by a glaring Hector.

"We're going to find Wolfhound and this Fenrir woman," he said icily so, "And we'll kill Nergal and stop his plans to bring back the dragons. We'll avenge your parents, so don't go charging off when you need to calm down!"

Eliwood ignored Hector for the moment and pulled the door open, so that the sound of hysterical screaming floated into hearing range. Both of them spared half a glance before belting down the hallways, Eliwood grabbing a lance from one of the suits of armor that lined the hallway while Hector gripped his already-drawn battle axe tightly.

The source of the screaming was evident the second they had gotten to the entrance gates of the castle. At least three Pherean knights, one of them being the teal-haired Lowen, were trying to restrain a screaming woman dressed in a man's black clothing. Though many Phereans had vibrant red hair (it was quite common, despite being entirely rare in the rest of Elibe) Eliwood knew the uneven clumps and bobbed cut of the woman they were restraining.

"Saint damn it!" swore Hector, marching forward towards the knights and Rose and grabbing the front of the girl's shirt. He frowned at the sight of her face.

It was almost translucent pale and drenched in cold sweat, her fiery eyes wide and alight with a sort of crazed fear. Her lips and tongue were dry and she was frantically clutching her pocket watch-necklace.

"Where'd you find her!" snapped Hector to Lowen, who flushed but answered curtly.

"Trying to steal some food, milord, and she suddenly started shaking and screaming!"

"Praise to the Marquess of East Lyrical!"

The area went silent as everyone in the vicinity turned to stare at Rose. She held her pocket watch in a white knuckled death grip and she screamed again, bringing her knees up to her chest so the knights were holding her in mid air.

"Praise be to the Dragon Slayer, the great Marquess of East Lyrical! Murderer of his wife, the Hero to Her Goddess! Praise be to the sinner who saved the Conqueror's Land so that it may be torn apart by the Goddess of Genetics!"

She inhaled deeply and began to speak again to the silent crowds, screaming her strange sort of prophecy.

"Be of his blood that the Spectre are born! Be of his soldiers that the innocent gain guilt! Taste sweet ambrosia as humanity is murdered! To whom should you pray thanks to, when the Goddess decrees Her Final Judgment?" Her shoulders shook with laughter and she threw her head back, legs dropping as the knights tried to silence her.

"PAY THANKS TO THE MARQUESS, WHO DAMNED US TO DEATH AT THE HANDS OF HIS DAUGHTER!"

Her breathe grew uneven and raspy, her bangs sticking to her face from the icy sweat that swept across her brow. For a minute, everyone thought she was done speaking and still remained silent. Then Rose continued in a low voice that Eliwood had to strain to catch.

"To find the Wolf and the Clockwork General, find the land of the Three Sisters' birth. There you will find the answers you seek. There the Goddess will reveal her true self. There the flower may lay down and die."

At last Rose ended her rambling – her prophecy, if religion had any effect on the Phereans – and she collapsed into silence and the soldier's arms. Eliwood stared in a sort of blank shock, her words echoing in his mind.

'Pay thanks to the Marquess, who damned us to death at the hands of his daughter.'

What Lycian Marquess had a daughter? Well, one still living, since his mind immediately jumped to the late Lady Madelyn of Caelin. None of the other Lords had female children, it was only cousins of the ruling Lords who were girls.

Why was this (he didn't know whither to call it a warning, a foretelling of the future or just insane nonsense) spoken in understandable Lycian, when every time Rose had spoken before had been in illegible gibberish?

He ran his hand through his hair, trying to fight the aching migraine that was threatening to explode and leave him incapacitated for the remainder of the day.

Why couldn't anything be simple anymore?

"Well, it's fairly obvious to discover what that psycho-girl's talking about."

Mark of Nabata raised an eyebrow and drained his mug of hot cider in a single gulp. It was late in the evening, the remainder of the day past Lady Elenora's death and Rose's outburst in the city square moving at speeds that seemed – to Mark at least – that somebody was manipulating time to annoy him.

He was awake in the kitchens of Castle Pherae, enjoying (or trying to enjoy) a poker game with a few of the troops that he commanded. So far, the players consisted of himself, Farina, Legault, Heath and Dart, and Mark was losing by a considerable amount.

"What hidden knowledge do you have hidden, Ms. Farina?" asked Legault in his usual lofty voice, raising an eyebrow at the navy haired young woman. Farina chuckled lightly, eyes glittering.

"With that last little bit you just said Mark? Something about the land of the Three Sisters?" said Farina in a knowing sort of way, leaning forward and grinning brightly. Mark probably guessed the Ilian woman had had a little too much of her country's native alcohol – potent rum.

"What of it?" snapped Dart, leaning back in his chair, "Dere's lots o' Three Sisters in the Elibe."

"But how many Three Sisters can say they've got a land to themselves!" barked back Farina, slamming down her hand so that everyone could see what she held. Four aces, two of the same suite, causing Heath to glare sharply at Farina and curse beneath his breath. "Rosie meant me and my sisters, of course! The lovely Three Sisters of Ilia!"

"You certainly don't have much of an ego, Farina," said Heath angrily, pushing his shaggy hair out of his eyes, "But I'm going to have to dash your lovely notion with something called 'logic.'"

"I've heard of that before . . ." she muttered drunkenly, and Mark made a note never to let Farina have more then two and a half pints of Ilian rum. Heath leaned in and glared at Farina sharply. "This girl, who appeared out of nowhere and speaks a completely unknown language, just shouted out random phrases in Lycian, when it's been proven that she can't speak a word of it. She claims that there's a magical, unknown Marquess who's killed his wife and whose daughter will become a homicidal maniac. Now, you claim that girl is speaking about you and your sisters at a completely random sentence?"

"Yep!" said Farina dazedly, grinning in a drunken manner that made Heath shake his head in exasperation. Dart yawned annoyingly.

"She could be from Magval, this unknown lil' wrench." Mark turned to look at the pirate with an arched eyebrow. "Magval? Care to enlighten us on what in Saint Elimine's name is Magval?"

Dart grinned cheekily. It wasn't often that he knew something that tactician didn't, and Mark silently spat curses to himself for seeming too interested in the topic. The young man yawned annoyingly. "I dunno, it's pretty damn late an' I wouldn't wanna keep the Lord Tactician up wit' pointless dribble!"

"Spit it out man," said Legault lazily, leaning his elbow on their make-shift poker table and looking at the pirate with half-interest in his pale eyes, "Unless you want your pay to be docked."

"Fine, fine," snapped Dart, "Magval's some eastern continent, fars I heard in Badon. Couple o' ships came a few years ago to trade with Lycia and Eturia, docked in Badon, an' they are sum o' da weirdest merchants I've ever seen. Dey worship rocks, Magvalens do."

"Their language though, what did they sound like when they spoke!" hissed Mark, not caring that Legault was memorizing Mark's now visible hand, "Was it anything like this?" He tried to remember what Rose had said to him a few days ago in her bizarre language, and he was sure the words were mispronounced when he said them. "Og ot lleh mrowkoob."

Dart shook his head. "Nah, dem Carcino merchants could speak Lycian, so I never heard deir own tongue. But I bet dem bastards spoke summin' like that, dey were weird enuf."

"Thanks for the help," Mark said sarcastically, hoping Dart didn't catch the sarcasm, "But it's our only lead on this Roseland Fletcher bitch, so we might as well assume she's from Magval. Though, back to those Three Sisters."

"You don't seriously consider Farina's idea to be logical!" snapped Heath, pointing at Farina exuberantly. The Pegasus Knight was twirling a poker chip in her fingers, marveling at how it shinned in the faint candlelight. "She's drunk off at least a gallon of alcohol and gave us a lead on what a madwoman said!"

"Hey, what would you suggest Heath?" sighed Mark, threading his fingers through his untidy hair, "Madame Pherae was just murdered by some bitch named Victor – "

"Victor's a boy's name!" A silencing glare from all four men shut Farina up instantly.

"And that madwoman has the only kind of key we have to figuring out what in Holy Hell is going on! Wolfhound even said 'Roseland has the answers'!"

"But following Farina's drunken advice?"

"People think best when they're drunk," Dart said sagely, "Never did win a card game less I was drunk."

"I'll remember that," snapped Mark, "But I've been thinking . . ."

"What a surprise! Our tactician can think! It's a miracle!" said Legault, earning him a rude hand gesture from Mark that only made the Hurricane grin brightly.

"This Marquess that Rose and Wolfhound mentioned . . . They said 'his soldiers' and no Lycian Marquess has had a proper army since Lord Roland's time. But what if . . . what if this is the army they're talking about?"

"You're even drunker then she is Mark!"

"Oh really? Then I suppose we should go to Khathelet or Ciaran and ask their Marquess' 'You wouldn't happen to know anything about a siege on a private shrine in Bern or the death of Madame Pherae'?" Mark wove his hands together in a pensive sort of stance.

"I'm going to ask Eliwood and Hector if their willing to take a detour to Ilia after we visit Ostia, and see if this Rose girl is mad or psychotically genius. It's better then waiting for another strange woman to come up and kill someone important."

"Guess your right," muttered Heath angrily. Dart threw down his hand angrily and glared at all of the players that were still able to play without coveting the poker chips.

"Are we gonna play cards or are we gonna sit here and talk about important crap that concerns our lives?" he asked snidely, "Deal again, Legault's already seen all our hands."

"Yeah, well," Mark said with a thin-lipped smile that was more forced then anything, "He's the one with two aces of the same suite in his hand."

It was funny how fast someone could run when they're chased by angry drunkards.

_**I do not own Fire Emblem, Nintendo does. I own all original characters.**_


	6. Campaign of Fire

_**Movement VI**_

_**Campaign of Fire**_

Though it was nearing the beginning of the spring season and the scents and sights of wildflowers would fill Pherae again very soon, most of the citizenry was dressed in the darkest, finest clothing they possessed to honor the passing of Lady Elenora. Even though none dare speak it aloud, Matthew had a knack for finding out what people were saying in taverns and corners.

Everywhere he went in the market, the Ostian spy heard rumors floating about of how Elenora came to death the same day that her son had returned to Pherae and mere months after her husband had been killed. All they had to believe was the word of their prince and, Matthew noticed with a sour taste stinging the back of his mouth, many of them doubted Eliwood's honesty about his involvement in the two assassinations.

He paused for a moment to watch as a gaggle of navy-clad women went by and took an apple quickly from one woman's fruit basket, biting deep into the ripe fruit and making a face. Apples in winter never did taste as good as the ones in fall, or summer even, though he continued to eat it without complaint. It was the only thing he'd had all day.

"Hullo gov'na." Matthew turned at the sound of a voice address him and found himself looking into the drunken eyes of a young woman about his age. She had curly blondish hair and very large eyes behind cracked spectacles, her black dress and disheveled appearance clearly telling him where she stood in terms of wealth. "Ya gonna finish yer lunch dere, cuz I'd be more den happy ta take it from ya if ya'd like."

"Think I'll finish it," he said, biting into it to exercise his point. The woman shrugged and pushed up her broken glasses, grinning with her crooked teeth.

"Bit eerie, ain't it?" Matthew shot a look with a raised eyebrow at the woman, who shrugged again and elaborated on her previous statement. "Ain't it strange dat the Marquess comes back an' wit him comes a mystic-y gal? Kinda makes ya wonder wot else our prince's got hidden away summwhere."

Mentally, he scowled darkly. Matthew may serve, technically, under House Ostia and, figuratively, on his own schedule, but he hated what this woman was saying about Eliwood. However, something about her intrigued him, so Matthew forced a nod.

"It is odd, but we just have to put our trust in the Lycian League," he said smoothly and the woman chuckled darkly.

"Nah, dem noble bums ain't care nuttin' 'bout us, dey'll just stick summone worse ta rule Pherae. My mates an' I been thinkin' bout going to Badon an' hitching a boat 'cross sea." She gave a hushed whisper and drew him closer in. "Heard summin' bout dis place called Magval, an' it ain't soundin' too bad."

She ran her fingers through her filthy hair, breathing the smell of cheap ale into his face. "'Parently, dere's Druids who can resurrect da dead over dere. No need ta worry 'bout dying anymore, 'eh?"

At last, the woman walked away and left Matthew feeling like someone was clutching his heart. Turning sharply on the scuffed heels of his leather boots, he turned and marched back towards Castle Pherae as swiftly as his long legs could take him.

The occupants of the castle, from the vassals that cleaned the kitchens to the heir of the title of Marquess Pherae, were all clad in black in mourning Lady Elenora's passing. Eliwood himself was up in one of the unused guest rooms, looking intently at the gaunt figure of a red-haired girl as she starred blankly at the glossy portrait in front of her.

Rose was twirling the silver linked chain of her pocket watch between her fingers, starring at the minimized woman in the portrait with a sort of awful surprise in her eyes. Hector, who stood over Eliwood, crossed his arms irritably and spoke in a hissed whisper.

"This is worthless! How are we supposed to get any answers from her if she won't say anything?"

"Maybe if you stop yelling at her, she'd talk!" Lyn hissed snappishly, then clutched her injured side. Although Serra had mended the broken bones, she had not relieved Lyn of the soreness in her side.

Rose looked pleadingly up at the three Lycian lords, licking her dry lips and drawing in a raspy breath. She was as pale and thin as she was the day that she'd first entered Eliwood's company, though he knew she shouldn't be anymore. There were deep circles under her eyes that suggested lack of sleep or illness; two things she didn't exhibit at all. She shuffled nervously and spoke in her native language.

"I . . . t'nac pleh uoy. Ssim. Mary . . . Ll'ehs eb gnimoc noos. Llik em, dna evas ruoy dnal, reredrum. Eraps flesrself morf gnitimmoc erom snis ot peek uoy morf eht s'Tnias nevah," she breathed hoarsely, giving a strange sort of grin to herself.

"Who is Mary Fenrir?" asked Eliwood, ignoring her previous outburst. He put special emphasis on her name, hoping it would jog something understandable. Rose looked up at him and grinned manically, chuckling to herself.

"Mary Fenrir si Mary Fenrir," she said darkly, "Ehs si Dog." Hector gave a snarl of fury and lifted Rose up by the front of her coat, causing the girl to rapidly pale in coloring and scream as loud as she could.

"Put her down!" snarled Lyndis, but Hector didn't seem to hear the Sacaen.

"What the hell is going on! I know you can talk in Lycian so talk! Who are Mary Fenrir and her bitch lackeys! Who's this Marquess and why are you even here in the Saint-damned first place!" he roared in the girl's face. She screamed again, struggling viciously to get out of the Ostian's grip.

"Put her down Hector!" yelled Eliwood, drawing his rapier, "She's not going to do anything if you scare her to death!"

But Rose had gone very still suddenly, very pale in Hector's grip. Her pupils dilated so much so that her burgundy irises were almost gone from vision. For a moment, it even seemed, she stopped breathing. However, she drew in a horribly shaking breath and spoke again in understandable Lycian.

"Known as the First King of the Lycian Republic, the famed Marquess was the one who spurred on the infamous Campaign of Fire," she said quickly and snappishly, "His army, according to historians and chronologists, was nothing more then a hodgepodge of talented soldiers united under four commanders, though most orders came directly from the Marquess."

Hector dropped her gently and Rose curled into a ball, her yellow nails digging so deep into her knees that blood was staining her trouser legs. "The four commanders of the Marquess' army were the Marquess himself, the alleged Pherean Paladin and father of General Roy of the Eturian-Lycian army, and the General of Ostia, father of Lady Lilina the Fair. Both of these men went down as the two greatest leaders of Lycia before the time of the Lyrical Empire."

Lyn gave Eliwood a frightened look and knelt down by Rose, trying to keep the girl from peeling off her skin. It seemed that she would do something like that soon. But Rose jerked violently away from Lyn's touch and hugged her shoulders, sweat dripping from her face.

"The Queen of Sacae was the third commander of the army, though historians debate whither or not she should be considered the first, since technically the Queen founded the army one year before the Campaign took place. She is infamous for her spats with the General and it was well rumored that she birthed Lady Lilina. No evidence was given to support this claim, but it is considered a great mystery surrounding the Campaign of Fire."

"What on Earth is she babbling about? There's no Queen of Sacae or any of these people!" snapped Hector but Eliwood held up a hand to silence his friend. The Pherean's eyes were misted as he listened to Rose's hysterical whispering.

"Genealogy has proven that it is from the Queen's line that William the Conqueror descended from, although most information has been kept secret by the Lyrical family. It is also known that the Victor Wolfhound – Minister Mary Fenrir's assistant – came from a branch of the Queen's lineage, though it has not been proven if it is a direct or indirect relationship."

She began to cough violently, spattering both blood and spit on the stone floor of the room. However, mingled with the unpleasant concoction was a strange sort of bluish-white liquid. Even though he noticed the abnormality, Eliwood's attention remained completely focused on Rose's speech.

"The final commander remained an enigma, even though historians have discovered much about the Campaign of Fire through his journaling. Most think of him only as the Duke of Elibe, since no other name has been given. His journal . . . was . . . was found . . . in Ilia . . . Near the birth . . . place . . . of the . . . Three Sis . . . Sisters . . ." Her eyes rolled backwards and she collapsed in a shivering ball, her skin pale and arms limp.

"Campaign of Fire . . . Do you think that could be the Scouring? Hanon of Sacae was female, but that's the only thing that could connect the events," Lyn said, breaking the uneasy silence that had settled into place. She stood and looked at her two companions.

Eliwood sat down, brow furrowed in confusion as he thought about Rose's words. He'd never heard of the two people she had actually named – General Roy or Lady Lilina – and the idea of an Eturian-Lycian army was baffling. Though there was no hostility between the two, it seemed beneath the Eturian royal forces to work with a Lycian military force.

This Campaign of Fire was a mystery too, as were the titles of the four commanders. The Pherean Paladin, the General of Ostia, the Queen of Sacae or the Duke of Elibe . . . All of this made no sense. At least with Nergal, Eliwood knew what the Druid wanted and had a chance to stop him. Yet, this Mary Fenrir and her enigmatic forces, all he knew about them was that they wanted Rose's pocket watch.

"What should we do? Look up those people?" Lyn asked helpfully. Hector shook his head. "We'd be grasping at straws. We don't have enough to go on, except useless titles."

"We know that Wolfhound's descended from this Queen of Sacae," said Eliwood darkly, "And we know that Mary Fenrir wants Rose's pocket watch and that answers are at in Ilia."

Hector shook his head and held it in his metal-clad hand. "Where is this Mary Fenrir! I want answers from her, not this insane wrench!"

"That insane wrench is our only clue to this whole thing Hector," said Lyn harshly. She glared at Hector for a moment then marched from the room. "I'm going to find Kent. Maybe he'll spar . . ."

"I'll spar. I feel ready to break something," Hector snapped. The Sacaen turned and raised an eyebrow. "I might kill you out of anger," she sneered, walking more swiftly so that Hector hadn't a hope to catch up with her.

"We'd better get her to a healer; keep Serra busy for a while," said Hector in anger, jerking his head at Rose. Eliwood knelt down and gently lifted one of the girl's arms up. However, he frowned as he felt her wrist. Something wasn't right, and he pressed two fingers to the veins directly beneath her palm.

The color drained from his face.

"Hector . . . She's dead."

* * *

Yelling out to relieve tension in her mussel systems, Lyn swung down her Sacaen katana down on Kent's lance. The Knight raised an eyebrow at his Lady's harsh movements, though it didn't stop him from easily sidestepping her wild swings with the sword.

"You're not focusing, milady," he noted as Lyn wheezed, wiping her sweaty palms on her skirt, "What's on your mind?" Kent easily parried Lyn's upwards thrust. There were at least two flaws in her form that could have killed her, yet he merely swung down his lance and knocked her off her feet.

"That girl, Rose," said Lyn heavily, pressing down with two hands on her sword to try and loosen his hold on his lance, "She said some things a few minutes ago in Lycian."

Kent raised a copper eyebrow. He'd heard Rose mutter a few times in her sleep in Lycian, but he'd thought she had picked up a few words from the soldiers in Lord Eliwood's service. He blocked another of Lyn's swings and disarmed her easily.

"She must have said something serious to distract you this much," Kent said, lifting up her sword and presenting it to her hilt first. She took it and immediately matched it with his lance, leaning close so that she could still speak with Kent.

"Have you ever heard of the Campaign of Fire?" she asked and he shook his head, swinging his lance so that the tip pressed against her neck. Lyn shook her head, sidestepping away from the spearhead. "She was mentioning about three commanders, mainly – the Marquess, the General of Ostia and the Queen of Sacae."

"If I might say something," he said, backing away from her constant barrage of hits, "The General of Ostia might be Lord Uther."

"Then who'd the other two be? I thought Hanon of the Scouring might be the Queen of Sacae, but there weren't the others."

Kent nodded and raised an eyebrow when Lyn delivered a particularly hard hit that sent slight pain through his arms and cracked his lance clean in half. He tossed the ruined lance aside as Lyn mumbled an apology.

"It as getting too worn anyway. Better it break with you, milady, then on the battlefield where your life could be put in danger." He drew his sword, a weapon he was less proficient at but could still be used in sparring. Lyn smiled lightly. "Not to mention put your life in danger," she said, somehow pleased to hear the sound of her katana clattering against a steel sword.

"Your life is more important. If I died," (he pressed hard against Lyn's blade, so that the Sacaen skid back a little in the dirt), "You would still have Sain and General Wallace to protect you. If you perished, Caelin would remain heirless."

She scowled, taking several steps backwards so that she could charge. Their swords collided with such force that Kent's was knocked clean out of his hands and skid away by a few feet. "Quite the optimist you are," she wheezed, "And who said I would go back to Caelin if you died?"

He stared and she pressed the tip of her katana to his neck mockingly. "Both Sain and Wallace have no objections to me returning to Sacae when Nergal is dead. It seems you're the one with the problem Kent," she said cheerily, "And I believe I won this match."

"Milady, do you plan to return to Sacae after this?" he asked, trying to sound emotionless, "And not to Caelin?"

"I will stay in Caelin as long as my grandfather is alive," Lyn said, sheathing her katana and inhaling deeply, "When he dies, I'm returning to Sacae with Rath and Guy. They think the Kutolah will allow me to join them."

". . . Milady Lyndis, Lord Hausen would want you to rule as his heir," said Kent calmly, taking his sword and sheathing it as well, "What would happen to Caelin when you return to Sacae?"

She tucked a lock of green hair behind her ear and looked at him intently. "I was . . . thinking I could ask Eliwood or Hector to make it a providence of Ostia or Pherae. Or would the Lycian League have to appoint a new Marquess?"

"You would really abandon Lycia so quickly to return to Sacae?" he asked, taking her shoulder. Lyn stared at him and swallowed, raising an eyebrow.

"Kent, is something wrong? You know how much I miss Sacae, and I don't belong in Lycia. I don't know anything about ruling a territory," she said weakly. Kent shook his head and held her shoulders tightly.

Kent swallowed rather painfully before speaking. "Lyndis . . . I . . ."

"Lady Lyn! Kent! Thank Saint Elimine we found you!"

Kent flushed immediately and broke away from Lyn. Rebecca was running towards them, snow-pale and covered in freshly bleeding scratches. Her bow was strung and drawn and her breath was coming in sharp, painful gasps. She was clutching something tightly in her shaking fist.

"Milady, we found something, Wil and I . . . In the woods, while hunting . . ." gasped Rebecca, her knees buckling as she fell to the ground. Lyn knelt down and looked at Rebecca intently, one hand moving towards her Mani Katti.

"What? Black Fang or soldiers in black and green?" she asked hastily. Rebecca shook her head and, clearly struggling for words, spoke quickly.

"It . . . It didn't seem . . . It wasn't human, and it wasn't an animal either! Saint Elimine's graces, it was horrible! Its dead, but . . ."

"Calm down Rebecca," Kent said, "What did you find?"

She inhaled sharply and looked up at the Caelin Commander. "I . . . It . . . Oh Saint Elimine! Wil's still with that thing!" She began to run out of the training area. Lyn hurried after the archer, Kent following right behind her. Rebecca lead them out of the town and into the woods slightly, a trip that didn't take more then three minutes by foot.

"Mother Earth and Father Sky," swore Lyn, withdrawing the Mani Katti at the sight of the deformed body that Wil was trying to defend against. It couldn't be anything natural; it had to be some mistake of magic or some cursed, hideous being.

The creature's mismatched eyes – one large and golden, one small and indigo – turned to look at Lyn and it bore its long fangs at the Caelin Princess. It was about the size of a large man, with bat-like wings and a vaguely canine look about its face. Wickedly curved horns rested on its skull and mix-matched patches of fur, scales and skin coated the body tightly, so that bone was visible and even stuck out in certain places. It stood on its hind, cat-like legs and pounced, long claws aimed directly for Lyn's throat.

_**I do not own Fire Emblem, Nintendo does. I own all original characters.**_


	7. Hostage

_**Movement VII**_

_**Hostage**_

"Lyn!"

The Sacaen woman ground her teeth together as she held back the misshapen creature; the only barrier between her face and its jagged teeth was the blessed steel of the Mani Katti. She tried to throw it back but it pressed harder, snorting its rancid breath on her face.

The creature gave a strange cry, somewhere between a falcon's screech and a wolf's howl, as Kent jammed his sword through the demon's side. It jittered away from Lyn and Wil, screeching as it spread its mangled wings. Rebecca raised her bow and fired, her mark true as the creature's right wing tore right from its chest and became pinned to a tree.

Lyn, who'd killed dozens of assassins and her own grand-uncle, smelt fried flesh and seen a dragon, blanched at the smell of that thing's blood. It was like someone had mixed sulfur and decayed flesh together with some kick that made her head spin and stomach twist. The creature screeched again, lunging for Rebecca and pinning the Pherean girl to the ground.

Rebecca, her eyes wide with panic, jammed an arrow as hard as she could into its throat, breaking through the other side and drenching her with its foul smelling blood. The thing yowled again and lifted the girl up with one of its massive claws, its odd eyes wide and filled with an almost human-like look of pain. It threw Rebecca against a tree, breaking her arm and sending her into a slump on the ground.

"Rebecca!" yelled Wil, though he fired two of his own arrows at the thing's throat before hurrying towards Rebecca's unconscious form. It gave no notice but bore its long fangs – yellow and drenched with spit, blood and a bluish liquid Lyn knew had to be poison. Lyn gave a high battle cry as she charged, impaling the creature and tearing out Kent's sword.

Nothing seemed to kill that thing. It gave another yowl in agony and swiped with angry talons at Lyn. Kent took his sword and brought it down upon the creature, severing its second wing and tearing a deep hole in its side. It snarled, flinging a too-large claw across the knight, scarring his face and neck, yet Kent lobbed his sword back through the creature's abdomen, piercing half of its left lung and heart. It paused for a minute, turning its bulging, mix-matched eyes to look at Lyn and Kent.

The knight moved to stand in front of Lyn, blinking blood out of his eyes and slamming his sword through the creature's chest. The creature snarled again, spitting and yowling as it tried to fight its way over Kent's sword to sink its teeth into his neck. It never got the chance, though, since Lyn swung her sword and severed its bulging head from its neck. The monster's ugly skull rolled across the ground and the body collapsed, oozing rancid blood across the powdery ground and Lyn's boots.

"What the hell is that thing?" she swore, stepping over the body to look at Rebecca's still form. The Pherean woman was still breathing, albeit slowly, and she was frightfully pale. "Get her back to the castle and tell Priscilla to look over her, I'll be right behind you" Lyn told Wil and Kent firmly.

"Maybe I should stay with you incase something comes back," Kent said, still gripping his sword. She raised an eyebrow and spoke snappishly. "Not until you get somebody to look at those scratches. You don't know if there poisoned or not. Go." Kent nodded sharply, wiping blood off of his face to avoid it going into his mouth. Wil wrapped Rebecca's arm around his shoulder and lugged his friend's body as Kent cleared a path through the woods.

Lyn blanched at the smell of the creature's blood and sheathed the Mani Katti snappishly. The creature, judging from the events of late, was probably something belonging to Mary Fenrir as well.

"Damn, ya killed it!"

The Sacaen turned sharply, her blessed katana snapping out of its scabbard as her green eyes came fell to a woman with indigo ringlets and large spectacles. Her black and green uniform was flawless, yet the aura of smell that clung around her was strong enough to even mask the monster's blood. It was the stench of cheap perfume and alcohol, like the kind in the bottle she held.

"Is that thing yours?" Lyn asked coldly, careful not to loosen her grip on the Mani Katti. The ringlet-haired woman ignored Lyn and knelt by the creature, swearing sharply in an odd language. "Yeah, ya killed 'er," the uniformed woman said lazily, "Damn, wot a waste o' time . . ."

Lyn pressed the Mani Katti's blade to the woman's neck, causing her to look up into blazing green eyes. "Tell me what that thing is," she said coldly, "And why the hell its here in Pherae." Lyn's eyes caught something silvery around the woman's neck and, pulling it askew with the tip of the Mani Katti, found it was a pocket watch, identical to the ones that had been the source of so much trouble.

"Ya must be Lyndis o' Caelin, ain't ya?" the woman said smoothly, her eyes glittering behind her round glasses, "I ain't never had da pleasure o' introducing meself ta ya, 'ave I? 'M Lady-General Clockwork, o' Miz. Mary's grand armies."

"You aren't answering my questions," Lyn barked, biting the katana's hilt deeper into Clockwork's skin. Inside, she was uneasy. Hector had said Clockwork led the attack on the Shrine of Seals, commanding the invincible troops who'd eaten the Black Fang, and now she was here mourning the death of some deformed, misshapen monster that'd refused to die until decapitation.

Clockwork grinned, revealing discoloured teeth from smoking and intoxicated breath. "Dis 'ere is a Poltergeist, sos I've heard from the Sculptor, dough it ain't da greatest o' dem. Mussta gotten loose from da rest, me guess."

"'The rest'?" Lyn dug the Mani Katti into Clockwork's throat, drawing blood, "There are more of these things in wait? Explain!" The ringlet-haired woman grinned again and chuckled.

"Da Goddess' Consort are lookin' fer a thief, who took a pocket watch from Miz. Mary," Clockwork explained loftily, scratching the bridge of her nose, "Once 've got dat watch, we'll be gone jus' like dat." (She snapped her fingers) "Now, dat ain't gonna be a problem fer ya an' da rest o' da Lycian govna's, ain't it?"

Lyn didn't loosen her position at all. "This pocket watch you want so much . . . Was the thief a girl named Roseland Fletcher?"

"Uh . . . Yeah, dat's her," the Lady-General said slowly, grinning, "Ya know her?"

Lyn jerked her head in a nod. If giving up Rose would save lives, then so be it. It wasn't even like Lyn was fond of the girl who was the source of so much trouble. Though, she was curious as to the truth behind this whole matter.

"What is it about this pocket watch that makes it so important to retrieve it?" Clockwork chewed her lip and jerked her head back to avoid being cut deeper by the Mani Katti. "Well? Are you going to tell me?" Lyn asked in a whispered snarl.

"Nah, dun think I'll tell –" She winced as the Mani Katti dug even deeper into her skin, thin veins of blood dripping from the cuts. "Dey are tools fer da Searcher, Victor Wolfhound, an' Miz. Mary uses dem fer Imperial Symbols, ur summin' like dat. Why da ya care, anyway?"

Lyndis said nothing. With the siege at the Shrine of Seals connected to the murder of Eliwood's mother, it was all she could do to care. "Give me your weapons. I'll escort you back to Castle Pherae to get Rose," she snapped, looking at the holster Clockwork had strapped to her hip. One of those odd weapons, guns, was there, and Lyn wasn't eager to leave something that destructive in Clockwork's hands.

The General griped her gun tightly with her hand but it never left her grasp. Far too quickly for even Lyn to block, she fired the gun directly at Lyn's side. Instead of the effect that the Sacaen had expected – which was the worst thing that could have happened – paralyzing pain erupted through her body and her knees buckled. Lyn couldn't feel anything; her body had gone completely numb, her senses were dead and her body was as limp as a rag doll's.

Clockwork grinned and took a long drag of the ale in her bottle. "Miz. Mary's gonna get 'er flowa back," she said in a sing-song voice, lifting the limp body of the Caelin Princess up by her shirt, "An' ol' Clockwork's gonna get sum cognac fer her cocktails!"

* * *

"She's _dead?" _Hector asked incredulously, staring at Rose's corpse, "How could she be dead!" 

Eliwood couldn't quite comprehend what his friend was saying. His whole attention was wrapped up in the cadaver of Roseland Fletcher that lay in front of him. How could she have died, it wasn't as though they starved her of food or water and she slept normally enough. And yet . . . And yet . . .

"Fear . . ."

Hector stared at Eliwood somewhere between annoyance and confusion. The Pherean stood; his arms limp, eyes blank and face pallid. He stared at Hector in a strange, far away kind of glance.

"She was afraid of us . . . She must of died from fear," he said weakly. Hector shook his head, scowling darkly. "You don't know that. She was like a skeleton with a soul! Probably illness, Priscilla said she had a lot of poison in her body. That must have killed her, a person can't die of fear."

Eliwood shook his head, trying to clear thoughts from it. He needed sleep; time to get his thoughts together and to focus on more important things. Besides, if Rose was dead, that meant Mary Fenrir and her servants wouldn't have anything to hunt for anymore. They wouldn't have any need to kill anymore.

No, he didn't know that. None of them, except Rose, had any idea what Mary Fenrir wanted. And besides, when had he ever been glad because someone was dead?

"Lord Eliwood!"

'Damn it, what now?' he thought, turning to look at the maid that had just entered into the room. She swallowed, looking from Hector to Eliwood and then to Rose's body. The maid inhaled sharply and nervously smoothed her red skirt. "Milord," she said, stressing the word unnecessarily, "Three of your soldiers have returned; one is unconscious and the other two are bleeding severely. The Caelin knight wishes to speak with you immediately in the infirmary."

"Fine," Eliwood said firmly, marching swiftly from the room. The maid swallowed and left after him, walking away from his direction. Hector scowled down at Rose's body and lifted the limp girl up, holding her behind his shoulders and following Eliwood to the infirmary.

"Hey!" he called after his redhead friend's slow moving back, "Maybe you should go and lie down. I can probably deal with whatever's going on."

Eliwood scowled and glared at Hector. There wasn't anything wrong with him; it wasn't like he'd actually taken Rose's life. "I'm fine," he said with a strong note of finality in his voice.

"Like hell you are. Your need to get your mind off these past few days," Hector barked impatiently, "And if you tell me 'I'm fine' one more time, I'll make you rest myself."

The Pherean remained silent for a long time, gripping his rapier out of nervous reflex, until arriving to the castle's infirmary on the third floor. It was rarely used, except when a lady of the castle was giving birth, and as such had very little staff or equipment. With Eliwood's army currently residing in the castle, Priscilla and Serra had been put in charge of the ward.

It was a good thing that they had. The sight in the make-shift hospital was unpleasant; Rebecca's still, limp and bloody body on one of the two cots while Wil and Kent – both covered in some foul-smelling, blood like substance and deep scratches – stood by her. Priscilla was checking Rebecca's wounds and jumped at the sight of Eliwood, Hector and Rose's body.

"Thank Saint Elimine you're here," Priscilla said, sounding weak and tired. Kent, whose lower face and cheeks were covered in deep gouges, spoke in a voice that was similar to Priscilla's.

"There's some creature in the woods around Pherae; maybe more, we only saw one," he said swiftly, wincing occasionally as blood dripped from his open wounds, "It only died when Lady Lyndis cut off its head." Wil nodded, then paused and clutched his head. "When we pierced it through the heart," he explained in a weak voice, "It revived itself a few seconds later."

"Where is Lyn?" Hector asked, dropping Rose's cadaver onto the other cot. Kent said nothing for a moment. "She told us to get back to the castle. Sain's going back to make sure Lady Lyndis is alright."

"What happened to Rose?" Wil asked, looking at the girl's frozen face and lifeless position. Eliwood's voice was surprisingly cool when he spoke. "She died. We don't know how."

"Saint Elimine's graces . . ." Priscilla held her head in her hand, sighing in exasperation and turning to Rebecca. Gripping her golden staff, she pressed the orb to the archer's brow and whispered, "Recover."

"I'm going to go back to make sure Lyn's alright," Kent said, "That thing could revive itself again."

Priscilla's narrowed, emerald gaze lifted up from Rebecca's still unconscious form to stare at Kent in the utmost fury. The Lady of Caerlon rarely became angry, much unlike Serra, though when she did it wasn't anything to take lightly. "You will not leave," Priscilla said in a voice like ice, making the hairs on the back of Eliwood's neck stand on end, "Until I make sure that you aren't poisoned from those scratches."

Kent nodded jerkily and Priscilla looked back at the unconscious girl on the bed. "I'll go see where Lyndis went," Eliwood said, "It's just outside the city?"

"Yeah, near a thicket," Wil said, running his hand through his chestnut hair. Eliwood nodded, gripping his sword and walking out of the infirmary. He was sure that Lyn was alright (she wasn't a china doll, and would probably murder the first person who suggested she was), he just wanted to get away from people for a while.

Eliwood knew that the servants in Castle Pherae didn't trust him as well as they once did, and judging from that maid's reaction, they wouldn't trust him at all when they knew that Rose was dead. He wouldn't have minded as much if there was a steward to watch over Pherae, but there wasn't. He'd either have to appoint somebody to the post, or remain there himself.

Who could he appoint? Any knight that would have qualified was in his army, and he needed all the help he could get, and most of the advisors residing in Pherae probably didn't trust him anymore because of the mystery around Elenora's murder.

Eliwood rubbed his temple as he left through the front gates of Castle Pherae, though he froze as he saw the people marching towards the gates.

A short woman dressed in a green and black uniform was marching through the streets, flanked by wide-eyed soldiers in identical uniforms to her own. The Pherean citizens all froze in their midday tasks, looking at the small group of armed men in surprise and alarm. Directly behind their leader – the woman with owlish glasses and a cigar – were two soldiers holding the limp body of a Sacaen woman Eliwood immediately recognized.

"Hallo govna'," the woman in charge said in a slurred, drunken voice, "Ya must be the Marquess o' Pherae, ain't ya?"

Eliwood withdrew his rapier immediately, grinding his teeth. "Who are you!" he barked to the woman in charge, who took out her cigar and blew out a thin string of gray smoke. "'M Lady-General Clockwork," she said, grinning widely, "Head o' Miz. Mary's glorious army. An' dese folk," she gestured at the dozen soldiers who stood around her, "Are members o' da Goddess's Consort. We're here ta nego . . . ngeo . . . damnit, ne-go-see-ate," she said slowly, inhaling deeply on her cigar, "Hostage exchange."

Eliwood looked at Lyn's limp, bound body held by two blonde haired soldiers, and tightened his grip on the rapier's handle. "Name your terms," he snapped, narrowing his blue eyes. Clockwork grinned manically.

"Ya'll give me Roseland Fletcher an' blood from every member o' yer army, an' I give ya back dis Sacaen gal, savvy govna'?"

He stared at her, utterly confused by her demands. Rose he could understand, but blood from every member in his army? Why on earth could she want their blood? And Rose was dead, how could he tell Clockwork that and still guarantee Lyn's safety?

"Well? We dun gots all day; I got sangria waitin' fer me," she barked impatiently. Eliwood jerked from his stupor and looked at her intently.

"Roseland Fletcher died today," he said emptily, "Would you still release Lyndis if we gave you the blood?"

Clockwork tightened her grip on the gun at her hip, then forced a mad smile and inhaled deeply on the cigar. "Rosie ain't dead. Her heart ain't beatin', but she ain't dead. Miz. Mary's Spectres can't die less she demands dem ta die, an' she ain't gonna be doin' dat soon."

He ground his teeth together, stepping forward and brandishing his rapier in a defense stance. "What are Miss. Mary's Spectres?"

Clockwork ground her cigar into her palm, bearing her teeth in a very dog-like manner. "If ya want dis gal, govna'," she said in a slow, pensive manner, her teeth gnashed together, "Den agree ta my terms. We ain't got no reason ta keep her alive, an' my men ain't eaten in a few days."

"Deal," he said sharply, turning back into the castle. This was insanity, exchanging Lyndis for Rose and blood but . . . Saint Elimine damn it! What the hell could they do; Lyn was his friend and ally, while Rose was the only lead on Mary Fenrir that they had. How could he decide who's future was more important?

"Eliwood?"

It was Hector that snapped him out again. He blinked rapidly, not realizing he'd returned to the infirmary so quickly, and tightened his grip on his sword. "General Clockwork's here, in Pherae."

"WHAT THE HELL!" swore Hector in a vicious snarl, tearing his Wolf Beil from its place on his back, "Weren't there any patrols?"

Eliwood scowled darkly and spoke in a much darker voice, snapping almost. "She's demanding a prisoner exchange. Clockwork's got those cannibalistic soldiers with her, and they have Lady Lyndis captured."

Hector swore loudly, but not loudly enough to mask Kent's cry of rage. The knight had his sword drawn and was halfway out the door, ready to charge into a fight, outmatched by eleven men and a General, but both Hector and Eliwood grabbed him.

"Who's she demanding in exchange?" Wil asked, stringing his bow in one swift movement, "Is it Rose?"

"Yeah. She wants Rose and blood from every member of the army."

Everyone in the room stared at the Pherean prince in surprise. Priscilla shattered the silence instantly, gripping her long staff tightly with a white-knuckled death grip. "She wants our blood?"

"Does she know Rose is dead?" Hector snapped, looking at the redhead girl's body on the cot, "I don't think that Clockwork bitch would be too eager to get a dead body in return."

"She said . . ." Eliwood began, unsure of how to explain Clockwork's words, "That Rose couldn't die, even if her heart wasn't beating."

"So now that girl's immortal, is that it!" Hector said somewhere between a bite of laughter and a snarl, "Why don't we just chuck her body at Clockwork and get Lyn back by force?"

"And risk Lyn's safety further?" Kent snarled dangerously, quite a change from his usual composure, "I won't allow it!"

"We need to find a way so that we don't have to turn in Rose," Eliwood began, though Hector and Kent both spoke over him in angry objections. The Pherean held up the hand that wasn't clasped on his rapier's hilt, narrowing his eyes dangerously. "Listen, Rose is the only one who has any information about Fenrir, Clockwork or Wolfhound."

"Why don't we ask for information in this exchange?" Eliwood turned to Wil. The young archer was ashen faced and his cheery voice had been replaced with a much croakier one. "Clockwork's demanding two things in return for Lady Lyn, right?" When his employer nodded, Wil continued. "Why can't we ask for the Lady and information?"

"That puts Lyn in too much danger," Kent objected, tightening his grip on his sword unnecessarily so. Hector looked at the copper haired knight. "It might be the only way we can figure out what the hell's going on."

"But by risking Lyn . . ."

"I don't like it at all, but we need the information," Eliwood sighed heavily, running his hand through his hair.

Even though nobody argued against the logic in his plan, nobody was too happy with putting Lyn's life on risk for information. He shut his eyes to avoid the pounding migraine in his skull, wishing somebody could make the decisions for him.

* * *

Clockwork's eyes glittered as they set their crimson sights upon Rose. She had lit another cigar in Eliwood's absence, biting down deep on its end as a good portion of the army walked out of Castle Pherae. Even though now his force's doubled Clockwork's (her with merely twelve men), Eliwood knew that she could easily kill them all. Vaida had said there had only been about twenty soldiers at the Shrine of Seals that had completely annihilated the Black Fang. 

"Rosie, Rosie," Clockwork said, shaking her head, "Good ta see she's still safe an' sound."

Eliwood scowled darkly, still holding his rapier with a cut palm. The blood that Clockwork had demanded had been placed inside miscellaneous vials and satchels, though not even Lord Pent could figure out what Clockwork wanted with it.

"We want you to answer some questions before we give you Rose or our blood," the Marquess of Reglay said coolly, tapping one long finger against the cover of his Anima tome. Clockwork grinned, inhaling sharply with her cigar.

"Ask away," she snapped, looking back at Lyn's limp form, "But I dunno how long me men can stand not eatin' her." Eliwood looked at the soldiers holding Lyn captive. They were pale faced and dark haired, with wide eyes the color of the moon. Both looked incapable of rational thought, and both were starring at Lyn like a starving man looks at bread.

"Let's start with this one," Hector snapped, his massive Wolf Beil drawn and gripped tightly, "Who is Mary Fenrir?"

Clockwork sniggered, eyes glittering. "Miz. Mary iz Miz. Mary, Queen o' da Asgard Empire, Goddess o' Genetics."

"Next question," Hector snapped, "Who is Rose? Why is she so important?"

The Lady-General sighed, leaning on her hip and resting a hand on her gun's top. It was easy to see she was getting irritated, though Eliwood could care less. "Rosie Fletcher got da Marquess' blood in 'er, she do, an' she gots da best memory in all o' da Lyrical Empire. She be . . . er, wot's dat word . . . Rosie be kin ta Marquess."

"And who is the Marquess?"

Clockwork began to laugh, her cigar dropping from her mouth as she clutched her sides. Hector raised an eyebrow and scowled darkly, exchanging a furious glare with Eliwood. The Lady-General adjusted her falling glasses, breathing through teeth clenched in laughter.

"Ya'll didn't figure out who da Marquess is yet?" she sniggered, motioning for her two soldiers to throw Lyn's body over towards them, "Ya'll dun know who da Pherean Paladin is yet? Miz. Mary wuld get a kick outta dis!"

"Who is he!" snarled Hector, moving forward to cleave Clockwork's head from her shoulders. Immediately, all of her twelve soldiers raised their guns and narrowed their wide eyes, as if they were a single entity. Clockwork grinned.

"Gimme Rosie an' yer blood, an' I'll tell ya who da Marquess is," she said slowly, as if speaking to a group of morons, "I'll tell ya who da Pherean Paladin, da Dragon Slayer is."

_**I do not own Fire Emblem, Nintendo does. I own all original characters.**_


	8. Isabella's Story

_**Movement VIII**_

_**Isabella's Story**_

Eliwood knelt down to Lyn's limp body, pressing two fingers to her neck. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief when he felt a pulse at her neck. Good, she was only unconscious . . . Both Kent and Sain knelt down immediately to check Lyn's condition, letting Eliwood's eyes wander to where Rose was being dragged to Clockwork and her soldiers.

"Damnit!" the Lady-General swore, gripping Rose's wrist and jerking the girl out of Oswin's grasp, "She iz dead. Nuttin' electricity wuldn't fix, o' course." She thrust Rose into one of her soldier's arms and turned back towards Eliwood and Hector, grinning manically so. That smile of hers was closer to a grimacing sneer then anything mirthful.

"Now, ya wanna know 'bout da Dragon Slayer, dun ya? Bout da hero o' da Campaign o' Fire?" she cooed, reaching for the gun on her hip and looking at the soldiers. "Well, tough luck. I ain't spillin'." Clockwork pointed her gun towards them, her crimson eyes glittering horribly behind her glasses.

"Get um! Miz. Mary'll have yer heads if ya kill um, but yer welcome ta beat da crap outta dem an' eat the civilians!"

Eliwood swore and gripped his rapier tightly, using it as a makeshift shield to block one of the soldier's gun blasts. Their guns fired small shafts of metal that, when they hit his rapier, dented the metal and sent the aftershock through his arms. Moving as slowly as he could to avoid the fire, his eyes flickered to look up at the wide-eyed soldiers.

Six of the eleven had gone over to the villagers, the gloves of their uniforms torn off to reveal long, inhumanly sharp nails and hands bent in a claw shape. One of them had gripped a woman by the throat and wrenched his hand into her heart, splattering blood everywhere. Another had torn the throat out of a man and was leaning down with wide teeth, ready to bite deeply down into his shoulder . . .

Eliwood's eyes widened in horror and he ran forward, partially crouched low to the ground and jammed his rapier as hard as he could into the nearest soldier's chest. The blonde-haired man blinked his wide eyes stupidly and looked down, dropping his gun. The Pherean drew his sword out of the soldier's chest, yet the man never fell.

Instead, he grabbed Eliwood by the throat and lifted him up, hunger in his eyes. He was crushing the Pherean's windpipe, causing him to choke and bring his foot up into the man's face as hard as he could. The soldier's head cracked backwards, nose and neck broken, and he staggered, dropping Eliwood to the ground.

Falling backwards onto hard cobblestones, Eliwood gasped and spat out a mouthful of blood. If he was lucky, he could talk again in a few days. Gripping his rapier tightly, he stared at the soldier as he fell to the ground, twitching spastically despite a broken neck.

Over a little ways, Pent raised his hands and shouted out arcane words, lightning sparkling from the clear winter sky. Two bolts came crashing down upon one of the soldier's, frying the man's flesh clean off the bone in seconds, yet he merely cracked his neck and turned, leering, to the Eturian Mage General, fried skin peeling from his face.

"By the Eight Heroes . . ." swore Hector, starring at the half-fried gunman and lobbing his axe into one of the soldier's chests, cleaving him neatly in two. The soldier's eyes, already the size of dinner plates, widened further as he collapsed and remained motionless.

"Get their chests; they're weak there!" Mark shouted from his position in the back lines, dodging gunfire from Clockwork herself.

Oswin ground his teeth and thrust lance into another, impaling the man's chest, yet Clockwork's soldier gripped the lance and jerked it out of his stomach. Blood was bubbling from his mouth as he dropped the lance and went to pick up his gun. Lady Louise, however, managed to stun the soldier with an arrow to the throat.

The gunman fell backwards on the ground, wheezing and pulling out the arrow, though the Ostian Knight had already picked his lance up again. Snarling in fury, Oswin jammed his lance through the man's heart. He turned in time to see one of the taller soldiers fling his fist back and punch him in the face, grinning with blood-drenched teeth.

Eliwood looked over to where the half-dozen soldiers were feasting on Pherean citizens, the ones his family line had always protected. Grinding his teeth, he charged forward and got one of them in the back, just as his had taken a small girl by the arm. The girl screamed as blood splattered on her face and bolted, letting Eliwood wrench his rapier from the man's body and flip him over.

As a child, he'd heard horror stories about blood-sucking monsters that preyed on young children and women. 'Vampires' they had been called, and the only way to kill one was to impale it in the heart. Even though Eliwood had stopped believing the stories when he was ten, it seemed a fitting end for these demonic soldiers.

Piercing the man's heart silenced him instantly, though another's gunfire hit him in his shoulder. Yelling in agony, Eliwood gripped his injured shoulder as tears of pain irrupted in his eyes. He turned just in time to see Harken swing his sword and cleave Eliwood's assailant into two. The gun clattered to the ground and shattered to a million pieces as if it were made of glass.

"Lord Eliwood!" the straw-haired knight yelled, "Get out of the battle; we'll handle it from here!" As a way to show Harken meant his words, he cut another of the soldier's arm off just as he went for another young woman, having already devoured one woman's heart and eyes. The armless soldier made no sound in pain and instead brought back his claw-like remaining hand, swinging it across Harken's arm and biting deep through the plate mail and into the skin of his right arm. Harken winced and threw the man backwards a few feet, decapitating the man in a swift swing of his sword.

Through the pain in his shoulder, Eliwood could see that the decapitated soldier was stirring, even without a head. It was . . . horrid to see the body move without any skull to drive it, and the Pherean Marquees returned quickly to his feet. Before Harken could know that his fallen enemy had tried to slash him again, Eliwood had jammed the rapier right through the man's back.

"Thank you," Harken muttered, bowing his head respectfully, "You should get back into the castle and have Lady Priscilla or Sister Serra look at your shoulder."

Eliwood shook his head, adjusting his rapier in his good hand. The other one, even though it was his shoulder that was injured, burned painfully when he tried to use it.

Something was odd about this fight, very odd. They were killing these monstrosities so easily, when it was evident by the way they ate the Phereans that they could move much quicker, strike much faster then they were doing to Eliwood and his troops. He recalled Clockwork's words 'Miss. Mary'll have your head if you kill them' and frowned darkly. Why the hell would Miss. Mary want them kept alive?

Hector ground his teeth furiously as he cut down another man, not carrying if the inhuman soldier was really dead or not. His target was Clockwork herself; that grinning, drunken General would have hell to pay from him.

Clockwork had dropped her gun and was looking as one of her soldier's ate a farmer, laughing gleefully in her drunken manner. She didn't even flinch when Hector loomed over her, clutching his bloody axe and glaring down at her.

"So da General o' Ostia plans ta kill me personally," Clockwork said snidely, cracking her knuckles, "Well, ol' Isabella Clockwork's not gonna go down easily. I ain't Miz. Mary's Lady-General fer nuttin."

Hector swung his axe as hard as he could, Clockwork dodging easily by stooping down impossibly quick. The Lady-General grabbed his arm and twisted it, not harming him too bad but doing a very good job against somebody in armor.

Hector gripped Clockwork's arm and threw the woman as hard as he could against the ground. Her body skid for a few feet, Rose's pocket watch flinging from her pocket and towards its mistress' fallen body. Clockwork returned quickly to her feet, rushing forward and grabbing the Wolf Beil's long hilt.

Even as Hector tried to pry Clockwork off of his axe, she stuck hard to it and used it to swing a high-heeled foot into his face, cracking his nose in an instant. He swore violently and tried to grab any part of Clockwork's body, yet the woman moved like a spider; far too fast for a human, and certainly insanely so for someone who smelt of five different kinds of alcohol. He succeeded in gripping her ankle and threw her again to the ground, though she never collided with it. The Lady-General landed cat-like on the cobblestones, cracking her neck and sneering.

"So govna'," she said calmly, avoiding each of his mad swings with the Wolf Beil, "Ya'll 'eard from yer bro lately? Uther, ain't it?"

Hector tried not to let himself get distracted by her and thrust his axe upward, trying to cleave her arm off. Clockwork dodged and caught her glasses just before they fell to the ground. "Ya sure he's feelin' alright?"

In the battle that had erupted, nobody seemed to notice that Rose was moving again, the redhead girl reaching with pale, shaking hands for a fallen gun.

Lord Pent spoke in a firm, hard voice, drawing a five-star pentacle of magic in the air in front of him. "Elfire!" he bellowed, sending a torrent of blood-red flames at a soldier and consuming the man's flesh. Near him, his blonde wife drew back an arrow and pierced the heart of the still-moving charred corpse of the man Pent had just fried.

"These men . . . They can't be natural," Pent said, looking at those they had managed to kill. They had only died when cut through the heart, showed no signs of pain when decapitated, fried or burnt.

He'd seen the carnage at the Shrine of Seals, and he couldn't understand why they were being so meek in ripping them to shreds. They had certainly done good work with the innocent civilians in Pherae (those eyeless, broken bodies were more then enough proof) so why didn't they come after them with full force? Pent wouldn't be arrogant; the army was just a mixed group of talented, lucky soldiers. Eliwood and his soldiers couldn't defeat these Clockwork's forces if they actually tried.

Wil fired one arrow at the face of one of the Goddess' Consort men, causing the dark haired inhuman to stumble backwards and away from the dead Pherean he'd been about to consume. Raising another arrow in his bow, his brown eyes widened at the soldier charged towards him and gripped his throat, blood dripping from his ruined eye.

To Wil's surprise, the soldier spoke in a hoarse, raspy voice that sounded like both a man and woman was speaking in unison.

"Eid . . . Ssim. Mary Fenrir . . . Dellik Ydal Clockwork's ylimaf. Egneva reh ssol . . . Esaelp pleh reh . . . Dna Rose . . . Pleh Rose . . ." The soldier gripped Wil's throat and threw the Pherean Sniper at Mark, causing both men to collide painfully on the ground. Mark's head hit the ground painfully, knocking him unconscious, while Wil was breathing in a slow, painful manner.

The soldier cracked his fingers, only to be shot down seconds afterwards by Louise's bow.

"What the hell does that mean!" Hector snarled, trying to hit Clockwork's jittery form. It was like trying to hit a fly. The Lady-General sniggered and rolled her head on her shoulders, loosening her neck muscles.

"Are ya sure dat yer bro be alright? Sure dat he's fine an' dandy in Ostia, dat nuttin's wrong wit 'im govna'?" she sneered, striding forward and standing on tip-toe to look at him in the eye, "Ya sure yer bro's not –"

Clockwork's eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat. Hector watched as she fell to the ground, blood gathering in her left side and looked up to see – to his utmost shock – Rose standing and clutching one of the soldier's forsaken guns.

Her eyes were wide and her bottom lip was trembling as if she was about to cry. Her shaking hands dropped the gun and her knees buckled. Rose looked up at Hector and spoke in a wafting voice.

"Isabella Clockwork . . . I dellik . . . Clockwork . . ." She started crying hysterically, bringing her knees up to her chest. Hector shook his head in disgust and looked at the five soldiers that remained alive. All of them were staring at Clockwork's fallen body with their wide blank eyes, immobile and worthlessly susceptible to death at the hands of the members in Eliwood's and Hector's army.

Eliwood looked over to where Hector was lifting up Lady-General Clockwork's body and then to where Rose, the previously dead Rose, was crying and rocking back and forth on her heels. The market street was covered in the dead bodies of all eleven of Clockwork's men and the remains of the Pherean citizens they had eaten the organs and eyes of.

"Damnit," he swore, clutching his injured shoulder in agony, "What the hell's going on?"

* * *

It seemed that Clockwork wasn't dead at all; just stunned from where Rose had hit her side. Priscilla said that she would be alright in a few hours, which meant they could interrogate her the second she woke up. Hector made it very clear that she was going to give them answers one way or another.

Eliwood gripped his injured shoulder tightly, trying to flex the fingers in his other arm. They moved very stiffly and with great pain, though the fact they moved at all was a good sign. His arm had been numb for a while now, even though Priscilla had healed the wound and closed it. He looked at where Rose sat on the infirmary floor, her eyes misted and face was ghostly pale, holding both hers and Clockwork's pocket watches tightly by their chains, muttering incoherently in her native language.

"Are you alright, Lady Lyn?" he heard Kent ask and turned to see the Commander of the Caelin Knights looking at his lady in the utmost fear. Lyn was sitting on one of the cots, pale and rotating her joints sorely.

"I'm fine Kent," she said weakly, "Just stiff. Whatever Clockwork used to stun me hurt like hell."

"What did they use to subdue you?" Pent asked, frowning darkly to match Lyn's stormy expression. The Sacaen stood to stretch her sore legs, brow furrowed as she tried to recall what had happened.

"That weapon of hers, a gun is it? When she shot it at me, it must have sent some sort of Thunder magic through my body," she said angrily, shivering slightly at the memory, "More painful then actual magic though . . ."

Eliwood winced slightly, though not at Lyn's description but at the sharp stab of pain that had gone through his arm when he rubbed the spot where he'd been hit. Why the hell was it still hurting so much?

"Uoy t'ndid teg eht tellub tuo fo eht dnuow, Rm. Reredrum," Rose's snide voice said, causing everyone to turn to her. Her face drained of colour and she scooted deeper into the corner where she was sitting. Lyn scowled darkly and reached for the Mani Katti at her hip.

"Clockwork told me something interesting before she hit me with that gun of hers," Lyn snarled, drawing out her blessed katana without a sound, "She said that Rose was a thief who stole that pocket watch from Mary Fenrir."

Rose jerked up suddenly at the sound of the name and her eyes widened as she saw a very angry Sacaen swordswoman leering over her with her blade drawn. Eliwood gripped Lyn's shoulder and pulled her back, glaring sharply at Lyn.

"Clockwork's going to answer our questions; we've no need in forcing Rose to answer in gibberish."

Lyn looked like she wanted to comment snidely but, thinking better of it, simply jerked out of his grip and glared at him with furious eyes. "Where is Clockwork? I want answers right now," she said venomously. Before Eliwood could answer, Pent replied calmly.

"She's upstairs where Rose was questioned this morning. Legault and Jaffar are making sure that she's not escaping." The tone in his voice was dark and unpleasant, though it got the message across. Lyn nodded and walked swiftly out of the infirmary. Eliwood followed after her quickly.

"Lyn!" he said crossly, glaring at her darkly, "We need information from her, and we're not going to get it if you kill her."

"You don't trust me to keep my temper?" the Sacaen said dangerously, the Mani Katti still drawn and held tightly in her hand, "I'm not going to kill her until we get our answers!"

"I'm not saying that," Eliwood said calmly, "I'm just saying that maybe you should calm down."

"You're surprisingly calm for someone who just became an orphan." The comment caught him off guard and he glared sharply at her. Lyn was striding down the halls in such anger that the servants avoided her at all costs, even rapidly running into rooms.

"I'll have time to grieve for my mother when this is all over . . ."

Lyn shook her viridian head in exasperation, but fell silent as they entered the room where Clockwork was being kept, bound to a chair and with her head jerked back by two daggers held by two Black Fang assassins, neither of which had any mercy for her. Hector was glaring sharply at the grinning, pale face Lady-General, tapping one finger against the blade of his axe.

"I take it yer wantin' answers?" Clockwork said hoarsely, her red eyes sunken and shadowed. Judging from her volume, she had a hangover.

'Small wonder,' Eliwood thought with a bitter smile, judging from how she was always drunk. Hector stood and gripped his Wolf Beil tightly.

"Finally, I've been wanting to question this bitch for hours," he growled, glaring at both Eliwood and Lyn sharply. The Pherean nodded and gripped his rapier, looking over at Clockwork.

"Let's get this over with. Lady-General Clockwork," (She winced, either from the coldness in Eliwood's voice or from how loud it sounded in her head), "If you don't answer our question's, I'm sure Jaffar wouldn't be opposed to silencing you."

She licked her lips and grinned cheekily. "Ask away govna'."

"Who is Mary Fenrir?" began Hector briskly, "And none of this 'Goddess of Genetics' crap."

Clockwork jerked her head away from Legault's lazy hold on his curved dagger and tried to push her glasses up. "Miz. Mary Fenrir iz, o' wuz, the Minister o' Science in da Lyrical Empire. She wuz sentenced to be executed cuz . . . o' high crimes against da Imperial Crown, if me memory ain't failin'. Fer homicide, treason an' disobeyin' da rule o' ol' Bill Lyric . . . Dem heretics were da first ta pay da price, sos da nine year ol' prince had ta take da thrown afta seein' his daddy dead."

Eliwood shook his head in disgust at Clockwork's pleasure and Lyn added the tip of her katana to the collection of blades at the Lady-General's throat. "Continue," the Sacaen woman said with poison dripping from her voice.

"Fine, fine, jus' talk softa," she said heavily, "She'z head o' da Asgard Empire now, after killin' dem heathens in Lyrical, an' she'z only 'llowin' Spirits an' Spectre ta live in 'er utopia."

"Spirits and Spectre?" Hector snapped, "People like Rose?"

She nodded slowly, adjusting her position slightly. "Dem be da Spectre, descendents o' da Marquess an' his knights," Clockwork said softly, "Da holy ones who'll bring forth da glory o' da Goddess o' Genetics."

Eliwood knew where this conversation was going. All of Clockwork's answers were going to be in praise of Mary Fenrir, leaving them with no answers. The Pherean sighed lightly. "Who is Roseland Fletcher? Why can't she speak Lycian all of the time?"

"Rosie's a pianist from Lyrical, but she ain't nuttin' more den a parrot. Only repeats wot she 'ears. Anythin' in Lycian she says ta ya, Miz. Mary o Ryder said first." She started laughing to herself, her eyes glittering. "Rosie wanna cracker?"

Hector gave a low growl of fury and glared darkly at Clockwork, ready to swing his axe and shut her up. Eliwood glared at both his friend and his prisoner. "Why did Rose die and come back to life?"

"Uh . . . Da Sculptor told me dis one . . . Rosie's got some heart sickness summin'. It stops beatin' fer a few minutes if she's got too much stress o' fear o' alcohol . . . Poor unlucky bitch, she can't never enjoy sweet pernod o' tequila . . ."

"And whose this damn Marquess!" snapped Hector, raising his axe to his shoulder, "Which one is it?"

Clockwork began to chuckle again but on a single command from Hector, Jaffar and Legault pressed their daggers deeper into her neck. She chocked, blood dribbling to her lips. "Okay, okay!" Clockwork sighed heavily. "Damn, ya govna's be dense. Da Marquess is –"

She froze, jerked forward with her eyes widening to the size of her soldier's. Lyn jerked backwards to keep the Mani Katti from impaling itself on Clockwork's throat and Jaffar wrenched something from behind Clockwork.

In his calloused, gauntlet-clad hand, was a thin-bladed stiletto knife with a single name engraved onto the handle. _Wolfhound._

_**I do not own Fire Emblem, Nintendo does. I own all original characters.**_


	9. A Letter

_**Movement IX**_

_**A Letter**_

Eliwood drew his rapier instantly, looking around the room intently for any sign of Victor Wolfhound. But it was empty, aside from Clockwork's interrogators, so how could Wolfhound's stiletto get in here?

"Just when we're going to get some answers out of her!" Hector snarled, looking ready to break something to relieve his anger, "And where the damn did that dagger come from?" Lyndis's sharp eyes were surveying the corners of the room, drawing her katana slowly, but Eliwood cut over her.

"There's no way anybody's in this room. We would have seen them fling the knife otherwise," he reasoned, though not completely calmed by his words. How, in Saint Elimine's holy name, had Clockwork managed to just die in front of them? It didn't seem possible that a room full of well trained warriors, two of them assassins adept at finding people in the shadows, could have killed somebody without them knowing.

"We'd better get rid of the body," Legault said, breaking the tension that was thick in the room. Hector nodded jerkily, still glaring at Clockwork's corpse as if he wanted it to burst into flames.

"We're leaving Pherae tonight," he declared, not looking at Eliwood or Lyn, "My brother's probably got information on all this crap. And Lord Athos said you needed to claim the Durandal in Ostia anyway."

Even though it was barely two days into the three week rest that they'd promised the army, Eliwood nodded. He just wanted to get away from Pherae after events of late. His mother's murder, Lyn's kidnapping, the slaughter by Clockwork's soldiers and then her mysterious assassination . . .

"Give it another week," Lyn's voice said quickly, "I know at least half of our weapons are still getting mended in the armory and Farina and Dart are ready to turn in their resignations. They're probably not the only ones either."

"Nergal's getting more powerful by the second and the Eight only knows what this Fenrir bitch is doing!" snapped Hector, catching Eliwood off guard for a moment. The Ostian lord only ever swore by the Eight Heroes unless he was really angry or scared. "We'll just get weapons in Ostia!"

"We'd just kill our savings if we did that!" Lyn challenged, the Mani Katti still held in her hands.

"Shut up, both of you!" Eliwood snarled in a rare display of his temper. Both Hector and Lyn looked at him as he drew a shaky breath. "Look, we can't afford to lose any of the soldiers and we still need the rest. We'll leave in another week."

'Besides, if I leave Pherae now, I'd never be able to be the Marquess,' he thought miserably. Ever since he'd be little, he'd wanted to succeed his father as the ruler of Pherae and if he left now, the day after an attack in which citizens were eaten alive, he'd never be able to earn the trust of the people.

"If I might interject for a moment . . ." Legault was examining the stiletto he'd removed from Clockwork's back, running his fingers down the blood-drenched blade of the thin knife. "The hilt is made from the same type of metal in your Wolf Beil, and isn't that type of steel used only for custom made weapons?"

"How the hell do you know what kind of steel is used in my axe?" Hector asked suspiciously. Lyn spoke soon afterwards, though she had a question rather than an interrogation. "How can you tell what kind of metal is in the hilt?"

". . . I'm a thief," Legault said as a way of an answer to Hector's question, "And the steel scratches ridiculously easily." He drew one nail down the hilt of Wolfhound's knife, peeling back slight fragments of metal shavings. Lyn looked at Hector out of the corner of her eyes, smiling widely as the Ostian did similar to his axe's hilt.

"Shoddy metalwork, isn't it?"

"Oh shut up."

Eliwood looked at Isabella Clockwork one last time, at the wire-rimmed spectacles she wore over glazed crimson eyes and the indigo ringlets that fell around her face. Maybe she was pretty, a long time ago before she'd fallen into insanity and alcoholism, but her skin was taunt and yellow and her face was sunken and ugly now. He sighed heavily and walked out of the room, hoping that he could get some sleep and ease the pounding in his head.

When had everything gotten so complicated? In the beginning, Rose had just been some odd girl who talked funny. Now, she was some thief that had caused two mass slaughters and incited the wrath of some empress who believed was a goddess. Eliwood could take a lot of things, but he couldn't take that this Wolfhound woman killed his mother, still lived after being beheaded and had her knife suddenly lodged in the back of their one key to this whole Saint-damned mystery.

"You vant a fev clues? I'fe got enough to vet your appetite."

He drew his rapier quickly again and looked to his right, where that snide voice had come from. His blood boiled as he spotted the familiar green-haired, middle aged woman that had slit the throat of his mother and orphaned him in one swift act.

Victor Wolfhound was looking much better then she had since the last time they'd met. Her hair was trimmed neatly and slicked back in an odd manner, merely making her look more like a man while her clothing – a black and green uniform similar to Clockwork's, complete with gun – was spotless and clean. Her wide, demented smile made him want to punch her, but Eliwood inhaled deeply and tightened his grip on his dented rapier.

"How did you kill Clockwork?"

"My, right to the point," she said, chuckling cruelly, "But that's not vhy I'm here. Miss. Mary has instructed me to deliver this message to you, und she vants results fery quickly."

He winced as he nodded, his stiffness straining his injured shoulder. Wolfhound's smile stretched to his great annoyance. "You got hit vith a bullet, didn't you? Ah, it's a pity you'll nefer use that arm again."

"_What?_" he asked, masking the panic in his voice with fury.

"You had your primitive little healer seal the flesh vith the bullet still inside your arm. Unless you hafe somebody surgically remofe it, the muscles in your shoulder are going to strain und tear und cause you so much pain that you'll cease to use it." She laughed horribly. "Vonderful vhat technology can do for you vhen it vorks correctly."

"Just give me that message." Eliwood felt extremely uneasy at the thought that his arm would become useless, yet he was strangely relieved at the same time. The bullet had hit his left arm, while he was luckily right handed.

Wolfhound stiffened slightly and took a folded envelope from the inside pocket of her uniform's jacket. It was made of some odd, smooth parchment, bleached perfectly white except for the name written in bland handwriting on the front; _Generals of the Pherean Army._

Tearing open the envelope and unfolding the letter inside, he scanned it quickly with narrowed eyes. Like the envelope, it was a crisp piece of white parchment the likes of which he'd never seen before. The handwriting was even more distasteful and almost mechanical in its lack of creativity.

_Honorable Generals of the Pherean Army,_

_I hope you will forgive the enigma that I have made myself, but it shall not be long before I will have the honor of meeting you in person. I do hope you will forgive any hassles that my Quartet have presented to you, and I do wish that there shan't be any hostilities between us when we meet in Ilia._

_As to that, I will be arriving in the village of Edessa in northern Ilia in two months time. If, for any reason, you are not there at the present time, my Quartet will meet you there and act in my place. I do hope that we ALL will be able to meet at that time and I am looking forward to the encounter._

_As for Miss. Roseland Fletcher (or Rose Blackthorn, if she prefers that silly penname), please let her read the next segment._

_Uoy evah deirt ym ecneitap rof eht lanif emit, ym elttil rewolf. Uoy evah on ecnahc fo gninruter ot ruoy elbaresim ecnetsixe dna uoy lliw eb denworc ym rieh dna Neeuq fo ht Ertceps, rehtihw ro ton uoy hsiw ti. Ni owt shtnom, I lliw mialcer uoy dna eht tekcop hctaw ev'uoy nekat dna uoy lliw yap rof yuoy lufnis roivaheb. Ees uoy ni Edessa, hctib._

_With deepest sincerity, _

_Miss. Mary Fenrir_

_Empress of the Asgard Empire_

_Goddess of Genetics and Time_

Eliwood was gripping the letter so tightly his knuckles were white. Her servant had killed his mother, her army had eaten his people and she hoped there weren't any hostilities between them? He glared up at Wolfhound and forced his voice to remain civil when he spoke to her.

"These two empires . . . The Lyrical Empire and the Asgard Empire, where are they? Another continent, Magval?"

"Magfal?" She laughed again in her horrible manner, sneering in cruel amusement. "Vhat lunacy. Let me gife you a brief history lesson. Magfal is a country difided into four kingdoms und a small mercantile republic. The two empires you spoke of, only one of vhich is of any true imperial glory, are on a different continent. The heretical Lyrical Empire, vhich beliefe Miss. Mary is traitorous to," (She spat at the ground in fury), "Is run by one emperor und five ministers. The Asgard Empire only allovs the pure to coexist vith the perfection of Miss. Mary Fenrir und her Quartet."

Of course this would have to deal with foreign geography, the one subject he hated. Still, Eliwood nodded and slipped the crumpled letter back into its pristine envelope. Wolfhound adjusted the stiff collar of her coat and held her hands behind her in a stance similar to a soldier's – which disturbed him slightly.

"Since you are to be burying Isabella Clockvork, you should knov hov she came to pover."

He did a double take. All these weeks of unanswered questions, and then suddenly he was getting answers thrown into his face so briskly? It seemed unreal, though not unwanted. Wolfhound cleared her throat and continued in her thick, deep voice.

"She vas nefer truly vorthy of being Miss. Mary's Lady-General, but she vas the best candidate. Ve had to kill her family und keep her on enough opium und alcohol to have her lead the Holy Army. But in the end, ve should hafe just made another zombie out of her, like all those zombies she commanded."

"YOU DRUGGED HER!" Eliwood snapped and charged for Wolfhound, furious beyond furious. He could care less if he killed a psychopath, a murdering warmonger with no pity or remorse. He wouldn't even bat an eyelash if he had to strike down somebody who just wanted money. But . . . Clockwork was just a drunken, drugged woman who probably hadn't even realized what she was doing.

Wolfhound dodged his attack and sniggered violently, reaching for the pocket watch concealed under her coat. Eliwood thrust his rapier towards her, clipping the side of her face as she fiddled with the foreign mechanics that caused her to disappear, again, as if she had never existed.

But he still had the letter from Mary Fenrir, and the sick feeling in his stomach that came from the true knowledge about Lady-General Isabella Clockwork, the alcoholic bitch that had been just as much of a victim as the humans her men ate.

* * *

"Edessa? She's going to _Edessa_!Damnit to hell!" 

Lyn scrunched Fenrir's letter into a fist and smashed it against the table in rage, her teeth grit and eyes blazing. Mark knew why she was so furious and felt sick himself, not wanting to think about what Fenrir would be doing in Edessa while they were gallivanting off in Lycia.

"Why Edessa? I've never even heard of it!" Hector said, rising an eyebrow at the sullen expression on Mark's face and the rage Lyn had in her Sacaen eyes.

"It's Florina's hometown," the Caelin Princess snarled through clenched teeth, "Mother Earth and Father Sky DAMNIT!"

"Well, what should we do?" Mark ran both his hands through his mess of hair, scowling darkly as he tried to think. "We can't ignore Fenrir if she's going to have her men make a feast out of their village, but Lord Athos wants us to get the Durandal out of Ostia."

Eliwood could have screamed to let out all his frustration and tried to pull his thoughts together in some functional plan. He could either go to Ostia, claim Roland's sword and defeat Nergal and the dragons before they destroyed the world, or he could go up to Ilia and Edessa, meet Mary Fenrir and put a stop to Saint-knows what she planned to do in Elibe.

"Maybe we could split up; half of the army goes to meet Fenrir and half goes to Ostia . . ." Hector suggested, but Lyn held up her fist with the letter crumpled in it.

"She wants all of us there," she snapped wearily, "And you honestly want to divide the army to go and claim a legendary, _protected _sword?"

"I don't hear you come up with anything!"

"SHUT UP!" Mark was standing, leaning his hands on the table and breathing heavily. He inhaled and spoke in a forced, icy voice of calmness.

"Mary Fenrir won't be in Edessa for two months. We'll have to get to Ostia, get the Durandal and get up to Ilia in that time to meet her." Hector, scowling, shook his head and stood to tower over the small form of the army's tactician.

"We'd barely make that deadline if we skip meals and sleep for two weeks, never mind stopping in Ostia and having Eliwood going through the challenge for the Durandal! That could take a month on its own!"

"What choice do we have?" There was a near desperate plea in Mark's voice. "We need the sword, and we need to meet Fenrir."

Eliwood shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. "We have a time limit on one, and severe urgency on the other," he said, stating the obvious annoyingly, "I only need to be the one to get the Durandal, I'll go alone and meet you up near Edessa."

"Like hell you are!" Hector snarled, his eyes blazing as they turned to his friend, "You're not taking that challenge alone, you'd kill yourself!"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

The door of the room creaked open and Rose meandered inside, clutching her pocket watch by the chain. She was shaking slightly and swallowed heavily, as if in the presence of her executioners. She certainly looked much better than she had when reading Fenrir's message to her, although anything was better then unconsciousness in Eliwood's opinion.

"I . . . I . . ." Rose sounded on the verge of tears, which none of them had any time for. She sniffed heavily and spoke to the floor. "Og ot Edessa. Uoy deen eht srewsna." When Hector opened his mouth to yell at her, she spoke awkwardly in Lycian, her voice trembling and her eyes narrowed.

"Go Edessa. Go to Edessa."

_**I do not own Fire Emblem, Nintendo does. I own all original characters.**_


	10. Confusion and Anger

_**Movement X**_

_**Confusion and Anger**_

"You . . . You can speak Lycian!"

Rose blinked her teary eyes and clutched tightly onto her pocket watch as Hector stood, teeth gnashed together. Even Eliwood stood with his hands clenched tightly into fists, unable to believe that she had been speaking some made up language when they needed information so badly from her. Half of him wanted to grab his rapier and force information out of her in a manner befitting that of the Ostian lord ling, and Eliwood was only stopped by the logical, moral part of his mind.

"Can you speak in Lycian?" Lyn said in a voice filled with collective hatred, drawing out her sword and making Rose furiously back towards the door. Mark grabbed Lyn's shoulder and pulled her back.

"Isn't it possible that she's repeating something she heard from us?" he said carefully, knowing how to calm her better then anybody else, "Clockwork said she could repeat things."

"This isn't like those other times!" Hector snarled, turning to Mark with fire in his eyes, "You remember her babbling nonsense! This is real, she's really speaking Lycian and she's been making up that crap all this time!"

Rose shivered, widening her eyes rapidly and looking at all of them in the utmost fear. She did not move as Hector grabbed her by the neck and lifted her up against a wall, instead going very white and rigid. The Ostian had another hand on the hilt of his axe, and his voice was very quite and cold. Nobody dared move in the room, not when Hector was in such a fury as he was now.

"You're going to answer a few questions, _woman,_" he said, a faint hint of sarcasm in his voice, "First of which is what is your real name."

"Hector, you're going to kill her again!" Lyn yelled, seemingly unaware of how odd her sentence sounded, and even the proud Princess of Caelin fell silent at the murderous glint in Hector's eyes. Eliwood simply watched Rose's expression fade into the color of wet ash, chokes caught in her throat as she struggled to breath.

"Maybe that's too difficult for you, Roseland?" he hissed, and even Eliwood felt a thrill of fear at how his oldest friend was speaking. "Here's another question. What the hell is Mary Fenrir doing in Edessa, and why does she want to speak with us so Saint damnable badly that she's willing to kill anybody in her way, even children!"

"YOU BASTARD!"

The room went very quiet at Rose's outburst, and Hector dropped her to the ground. The girl looked up at Hector, tears in her eyes as she curled tightly. "You promised to help me," she said softly, chocking and weak, "You said you could kill Fenrir if I got you a watch, and all you do is kill my brother to make sure she doesn't get what she wants." She drew herself tight into a ball, shaking with tears. "Let me tell you something, bastard," she hissed, low and cold, looking up to stare at all of them, Eliwood particularly.

Her eyes were wide and bloodshot, filled with fear and terror he knew. It was the same terror seen in the eyes of Lyndis, Hector, and anybody else that had seen the dragon Nergal had almost summoned at the Dragon's Gate, bedecked in flames that melted metal in an instant – as evident by the twisted sword still kept in Merlinus's caravan.

"She's going to win what she wants," Rose said, almost as though she were being forced to do so against her will, "She's going to get the blood of that fucking army and she's going to make sure we never get to see sunshine again. You know why, you bastard!" Rose shivered violently and began to roll up the sleeve of her shirt. She looked at all of them and pointed at her forearm rapidly. Eliwood sidestepped Hector and Mark and grabbed her arm tightly, narrowing his eyes at what she was pointing at.

Almost indistinguishable against her pallid skin were several words in a very bland handwriting in gray ink that he had to strain his eyes to read.

_Property of the Asgard Empire  
__Fletcher, Roseland  
_**_000002_**

"We're not even human anymore Ryder," Rose hissed at Eliwood, clasping his arm very tightly as she stared her wide, terrified red eyes into his face, "Just a number to her, just carriers for what she really wants."

"What does she really want?" the Prince of Pherae asked quickly of Rose, hoping that in her insanity she would be able to understand him. Rose gave a very high laugh, digging her nails painfully into the skin of his arm so that he could feel blood spill down his arm. "She wants to bring back the Marquess and his men, in her empire. She calls herself a god but she can't do it naturally; no. But that's where genetic engineering and test tube babies come into play, that's where she truly is a god."

Rose's eyes rolled and she collapsed into Eliwood's arms, breathing thickly and covered in icy sweat. He stared at her unconscious face for a long time, trying to make sense of what she had said.

Genetic engineering and test tube babies, she had said, but neither term made sense in the slightest. But he understood that this Marquess she kept mentioning was dead and so was his army, and that Mary Fenrir wanted to bring them back to life.

"Eliwood?"

He laid Rose's body on the ground carefully and stood to face the fellow commanders of his army. Eliwood held tightly upon the arm that Rose had dug her nails into and swallowed. "Do you know anything about the term genetic engineering?" he asked of Mark, knowing neither Lyn nor Hector knew. He had attended classes with Hector all of his life and knew not of what Rose spoke of, and Lyn had admitted that she never had formal schooling.

The tactician shook his brown head quickly, looking at Rose. "I'd guess it would be some kind of magic. Perhaps Lord Pent would know?"

"Go ask him then!" Hector snapped at Mark angrily, who narrowed his eyes icily.

"You're not the only one angry about all of this! Nothing of this mess makes any sense!" snarled the Nabatan man between clenched teeth, as he began to tick off comments with his fingers.

"Rose can only speak Lycian when she's mad, there are immortal soldiers who die because they get stabbed in the heart, people die with nobody there to claim the cause of, and decapitated people coming back to life . . .! This Fenrir woman's just toying with us, until we go insane!"

Lyndis, who had thus remained silent, looked at Eliwood pensively as she brushed back stray strands of her emerald hair. She looked from the Pherean back to Rose's frozen body and spoke in a very soft, confused voice.

"When Priscilla searched her, when we first found her, that tattoo wasn't there."

Mark silenced himself from his rambling, raising a brown eyebrow and Hector grabbed Rose's arm briskly to stare at the faint words written upon her skin with narrowed eyes. "Property of the Asgard Empire," he read nastily and dropped the girl back upon the ground, "We probably should just give her back to Fenrir in Edessa."

"Don't start with this now," Lyn warned angrily, "We don't know if Rose is guilty of what Clockwork and Wolfhound say or not. As far as we know, she could just be somebody caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"But that doesn't make a shred of sense!" Hector snarled, "She's got the same damn pocket watch they all have, she's the property of that Asgard place that Clockwork said Fenrir's the empress of and Wil said the soldiers speak the same language as her!"

Eliwood did a double take at those words, arching an eyebrow delicately. "He said that?" he asked quickly and the Ostian nodded carelessly. "One of the soldiers talked to him for a moment, said something about Clockwork and Rose, but that's all Wil could make out of that garbage of a language."

The Caelin Princess grabbed the hilt of her Mani Katti tightly, her brow furrowed in thought. Finally, she sighed heavily and rubbed her temple before speaking. "We have no real information to go by now, except that in two months Mary Fenrir will be in Ilia and that she wants Rose. We're probably better off, for the moment," she added, catching the narrowed glare Mark had given her, "To just going to Ostia and getting the Durandal. Nergal's the more important threat, _for the moment_!" she snarled again at Mark.

Eliwood nodded, rubbing his injured shoulder slightly. "Lyndis is right," (he saw her sigh in objection to her full name), "We're done getting supplies and food in Pherae, so we can leave at dawn tomorrow."

"Farina's going to demand a pay raise, I just know it," Mark snapped angrily to himself and, without a word to his employers, strode from the room with an angry and stiff walk.

Lyn looked intently at Eliwood for a moment more and then to Hector and Rose. "Can you take Rose out of here and put her in Priscilla's care, I want to talk to Eliwood for a moment," she demanded of Hector without waiting for an answer. He opened his mouth to object angrily, but was silenced with a sharp glare from the Sacaen. He grabbed Rose by the back of her shirt and strode from the room, carrying her like a doll slung over one shoulder.

"Eliwood," she began in a much softer voice, which surprised him, once Hector was quite gone, "About your mother's death, there isn't much I can say except that it's best to mourn then to try and forget about the event."

"I'm fine Lyndis," he said, so stiffly that he knew she would not believe him. In truth, she had a point. Since Wolfhoud had killed Elenora, he'd done his best to try and focus on other things, and luckily Clockwork and Rose filled that gap nicely; in a figurative sense only.

Her green eyes narrowed and bore into him in a very chastising way, her lips thinning in a frown. "'Only a soulless man can feel no pain in the passing of a parent'," she recited, "That's what one of my fellow tribesmen told me after my parents were killed, and I know you too damn well to know that you aren't _fine._"

"What do you suggest I do then," Eliwood said icily, much more so then he had ever intended to do, "Grieve for my mother whilst two madmen wreck havoc in Elibe? One's in Valor resurrecting dragons my father died to stop, and the other's doing Elimine knows what!"

She shook her head and sighed angrily, running her gauntleted hand through her thick hair. "I'd expect Hector to act like this, but not you Eliwood. If nothing else, just visit your mother's grave before you leave Pherae; it'll put you in good conscience." With that and a hand tight on the sacred sword of her homeland, Lyn strode from the room with the same stiff walk Mark had used angrily.

The red haired Pherean collapsed at the small table in the room, running his hands half-heatedly through his hair and staring blindly out of the small window of the room. It was nearly sundown, the sky painted rich pastels of pink and orange, a faint halo of a moon seen just above the horizon. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to get the migraine out of his skull and collect his thoughts in an arrangement that could actually be useful to him and his army.

Nergal's mission made sense at least. He wished to bring dragons back to Elibe because they had powerful quintessence, Nils said, and quintessence gave Nergal power and something akin to immortality, according to the bard, his sister, and the Archsage Athos. To stop this, Eliwood needed to claim Roland's sword from its shrine in Ostia and kill Nergal. Straightforward and simple, enough said.

Isabella Clockwork, according to Hector, had first said that Mary Fenrir wanted back a pocket watch a girl had stolen from her. That girl seemed to be Roseland Fletcher, who Victor Wolfhound said called herself Rose Blackthorne. Fenrir's letter said it was her penname. Yet when Clockwork had Lyn hostage, she had wanted Rose, the pocket watch, and blood from all the members of the army. Just now, Rose had said that Fenrir wanted to bring back to life somebody called the Marquess, the Dragon Slayer, the King of East Lyrical, and his army, which apparently consisted of the Queen of Sacae, the General of Ostia, and the Duke of Elibe amongst others.

Mary Fenrir claimed to be the Empress of the Asgard Empire, the Goddess of Genetics and Time. Rose said that she planned to resurrect the Marquess and his army with something called genetic engineering – obviously related, though since the meaning of genetics escaped Eliwood, not much use. Wolfhound and Clockwork were part of this Quartet, which meant two others were part of her group.

Yet there was still how Rose's heart had stopped and started once again, how the soldiers survived until they were impaled at the heart, how Wolfhound survived decapitation, how Clockwork and her men had such quick reflexes and inhuman strength and speed . . .

Eliwood crossed his arms on the table and leaned his head upon them. Within a few seconds, he was fast asleep.

* * *

"Lord Eliwood! Lord Eliwood!"

The Pherean jerked up at the sound of his name being called, his mind dazed although he had obviously not been asleep for very long. The sky outside the window was dark, yes, but not so dark that it was impossible to see. Eliwood rubbed his eyes and stood up quickly, looking out the door of the small room he'd slept in.

Lowen was standing outside the door, his hand at the knob ready to open it. At the sight of his tired and pale liege, he stood rigid and saluted with a firm cry of 'Milord'.

"What's the matter?" Eliwood asked sleepily, trying to keep his eyes open. This had been the only night in a long time he'd managed to get successful sleep, and if he had been more awake he probably would have been angry at being awakened as briskly as he had been.

"Milord, there is a problem you need to address immediately!" Lowen said, though there was a fearful tone in his voice that told Eliwood he did not want to continue speaking. Paranoia gripped at Eliwood's heart and in a quick moment he was no longer half-asleep.

"What's the matter?"

Lowen was still standing rigid when he inhaled deeply, panic in his pale green eyes and stiff jaw. "Milord, Lady Ninian is missing, and Legault and Matthew both claim to have spotted a black-haired, golden-eyed woman in the castle. Legault identified her as Limstella, one of Nergal's henchmen."

_**I do not own Fire Emblem, Nintendo does. I own all original characters.**_


	11. Midwinter's Waltz

_**Movement XI**_

_**Midwinter's Waltz**_

It was with depression and stiffness that the army of Lord Eliwood made camp, miles away from the safe walls of Pherae's main city. The depression resulted from the sullen mood that their commanders had taken from the kidnapping of Ninian right under the very noses of Eliwood, Hector and Lyn, and the stiffness came from the constant screaming provided by Rose ever since they had left Pherae. Her incoherent nonsense in whatever language she talked had finally culminated in Erk putting her to sleep with his magic.

It was dusk now, the remnants of winter winds biting through the encampment the army had settled in. Even though it was now nearly March, unusually late snowfall was falling in powdery flakes, chilling the mercenaries and soldiers who traveled with Eliwood and his army. Pulling his cloak tighter to his neck, Eliwood walked in what seemed to be a daze to the tent where Rose had been chained to a desk in her sleep. It had been Hector's decision to bind her, one that Eliwood was too drained to protest.

He had promised Ninian and Nils, promised them on his own life even, that he would keep them safe.

Yet . . . And yet he had been helpless to stop Limstella from walking into his _father_'s own castle and taking Ninian. What sort of oath did he give to them, to those who had suffered so much already? The thoughts made Eliwood sick with grief and shame.

It had not even helped that Nils had been the one to tell Eliwood and the army's other commanders that a search for Ninian would yield no results. ("If it was Limstella who took her," the bard had said, sadly and softly early that morning, "She's on Valor with Nergal right now.")

What he could do was focus on getting to Ostia and the Durandal, putting them one step closer to killing Nergal before dragons took foot on Elibe again, and with Mary Fenrir's nonsensical target and mission at Edessa. Thus, this was Eliwood's reasoning for speaking with Rose. It was an attempt to pull information from her. Guy and Rath, who stood guard over Rose's makeshift prison let him through without a word, though Rath did shoot a sharp eye to where Rose sat in the tent.

The redheaded girl was curled under the desk in the tent, thick leather binding her wrist to the desk leg. Eliwood hated having to see her like that, not because he had much sentiment for her (because he barely knew her, not from any sadism on his behalf) but because she looked too much like a prisoner under his command.

She looked at him fearfully with her bloodshot eyes, gripping her omnipresent pocket watch tightly. Her eyes were still shadowed and dazed from the forced sleep Erk had put her under, her already lackadaisical skin almost yellow like parchment.

"Rose," he began carefully, but she spoke sharply in her own tongue, talking over him and effectively cutting him off.

"Reredrum, yhw t'nod uoy tsuj llik em dna evael em enola?" Her voice choked and wavered.

"Rose, you speak Lycian, I know you do," he said in a voice colder then what he usually used. It surprised him a bit to hear himself talk like that, but Eliwood was not in the mood to force pleasantries.

"Tsuj llik em dna eb enod htiw em. Llik em os I t'nod og kcab ot Asgard . . ." she whimpered, ignoring what Eliwood had said, drawing her knees to her chest and playing with the leather cord that bound her to the desk.

Asgard. Wolfhound had said that was Fenrir's empire, wasn't it?

"What about Asgard?" Eliwood asked of her, and Rose's fingers froze. Like she always did before she screamed phrases in coherent Lycian, she had gone rigid and pale. To his disappointment, Rose still spoke in her odd language.

"Asgard si lleh." She held tightly to her pocket watch, shivering violently. She looked like she was about to start screaming again. "Doolb, oot hcum doolb. Henry Ryder, taht dratsab desuac siht, eh edam reh od siht ot su, edam reh llik Annie dna mom dna dad . . . Esuaceb fo mih, esuaceb fo doolb . . . Niap . . . Ymmom . . ." Rose started sobbing, and Eliwood felt himself getting impatient, an act that Rose deserved credit for accomplishing. He rarely, if ever, lost his patience, although this war with Nergal and Mary Fenrir's actions were drastically changing that.

All Rose seemed to do was cry and scream and get Clockwork and Wolfhound to follow her. Eliwood did have to admit he was being unreasonable, for she was relatively weak and helpless, but he didn't care. A few minutes in her company could break the patience of any man.

"Please Rose, what about Asgard? Where is it?" Yet all Rose did was rock back and forth on the heels of her peeling boots, crying dryly and shivering with what looked like hypothermia, even though the weather was not nearly that cold.

"Lleh. Asgard si lleh," she repeated doggedly, "Lleh. Asgard si lleh. Dna Mary Fenrir si Dog. Dog ni lleh . . ."

"Asgard," Eliwood repeated slowly, firmly in the homes of jogging something he could understand. When Rose simply drew herself into a tighter ball, her head in her arms and shoulders shaking miserably, Eliwood thought of what else might pull of something she knew in Lycian.

All he wanted was just some answers, just something to ease the pounding pain of confusion everything now gave to him. Just anything, anything at all . . .

"I only wanted to make you happy, Rosie . . ." Eliwood turned sharply at Rose's coherent speech. She was shivering worse then a man near death. "I gave you everything you wanted, Rosie. All I want in return is his blood, his code in your blood Rosie . . . Its all I ask . . ."

She looked up at the heir to Pherae's throne, something like longing in her bloodshot eyes. "Please Rosie," she said, her voice changed from its previously cold and calm quality to a pleading, desperate voice, "Please Rosie, don't blame me. I didn't mean for this to happen, Rosie; I didn't mean for all of them to die. I just wanted to be happy with her and she with me . . . Please Rosie, stop crying, stop crying Rosie, I can make it alright, I promise. . ."

Eliwood could do nothing as Rose continued speaking in that quick, desperate voice she had adopted while lost in what Clockwork had called a photographic memory. He was numb at the quality of her voice, that desperate apology in her words that sounded like a man trying to make up for all his sins – as Eliwood had heard before on the battlefield, from dying men.

The memory left him feeling number then he should have.

"Please, Rosie . . . Saint Elimine, Rosie, please stop crying . . ." she wheezed breathlessly. She went rigid and screamed.

She screamed so loud that Eliwood was sure that his ears were going to bleed, and dimly he heard Guy and Rath burst through the tent, Guy with his sword drawn in worry and a violent wince on his face at the noise.

"DON'T YOU TOUCH HER!" she was screaming, trying to snap the leather band that bound Rose to the desk leg and bolt from the tent. Rath grabbed her immediately, his usually blank face contorted in pain at the pitch of her shrill screaming. "GET AWAY FROM HER, WOLFHOUND! GET AWAY FROM ROSE YOU! YOU'RE NOT TO MAKE A MONSTER OUT OF ROSIE LIKE YOU DID TO HER BROTHER AND OF ME!"

Tears streamed down her cheeks as Rose continued screaming. Blood came up to her lips as she screamed. "SHE DIDN'T DO ANYTHING! DON'T MAKE HER A MONSTER! KILL ME, TAKE ANNIE EVEN, JUST DON'T MAKE HER A SPECTRE!"

Rose fell limp. For a minute, Eliwood wondered if she had died again, like she had before Lyn had been held hostage, but she shivered again and gave a soft moan. "Don't make her go through what you did to Danny . . ."

Eliwood gripped his rapier's hilt tightly, not out of any worry for his own safety, but something to comfort his shaking hand.

_You're not to make a monster out of Rose like you did to her brother. _

The line echoed in Eliwood's mind, and he did not want to think of what she must have seen, what she had been forced into. Looking at Rose, at her shivering body and ashen face surrounded by unwashed hair, he wondered blindly what Fenrir had done to her. He ran a hand through his hair distractedly, and heard himself speak to Guy and Rath in an amazingly firm voice.

"Take her to Priscilla's tent, but keep her bound."

Rath nodded, his usual expressionless look back in his eyes, though Guy was still looking at Rose in disbelief. Eliwood still held his rapier tightly in one hand as he left the tent where Rose had been held, blinking in the blazing winter sunlight.

There was silence outside in the camp. Presumably, everybody had heard Rose's screeching wails of pain, and gone quiet from hearing them. Eliwood could see only one person hurrying towards the tent he had just come from, the tactician's dark eyes watching as Guy and Rath took Rose's shivering and unconscious body towards Priscilla's tent.

"What made her start screaming?" Mark asked slowly, his eyes narrowed and fingers drumming on the leather cover of his journal. Eliwood could still see fresh ink on the tip of the peacock quill.

"She was talking about Fenrir's empire, Asgard, and went hysterical," the Pherean explained quietly, "Fenrir did something to her brother, she said." Mark nodded carefully.

"I heard," Mark said then paused for a while, watching as Rath and Guy carried off Rose's body at a fast pace. When he next spoke, it was in a quiet voice, "And I don't think Rose is quite human, either."

* * *

The night was colder than the day had been, and the powder that had begun to fall that morning had turned into a blizzard that had forced the army to take refuge in a tavern on the border between Pherae and Santaruz – something which greatly irritated every single member of the company, despite the fine lodgings they had taken. 

Eliwood unhappily sat at a table, dressed in a heavy brown cloak to disguise his clothing, watching as a drunk Bartre was attempting to pull an equally intoxicated Farina into a dance to the music a pianist was playing on the poorly tuned and ancient piano. He'd been so busy lately, he hadn't remembered that this week was the beginning of Saint Elimine's holiest month, the first month of spring.

Some springtime, he thought with a grim smile as he looked at the windows, iced over with frost and white snow.

"When has it ever snowed in March?" snarled Mark angrily, slamming down his mug of brandy and curling his fingers around its warm glass, "Damn blizzard, no less!"

"Happens more often than not," Eliwood said with a sigh, watching in feigned interest as another traveler entered the tavern with a gust of wind and snow. The traveler blinked from behind his muffler, staring at the unnaturally crowded inn.

"Not this bad," the tactician spat thickly, again slurping down the brandy and speaking louder over the sound of the piano music and the accompanied fiddle, "I've been in Pherae before. Snows, not this bad though. _Never _this bad."

Eliwood gave a smile, which turned to a wince as he rubbed the shoulder that still ached from where Clockwork's soldier had shot him. The pain was a little more than irritating, although at some points it became a numbing itch.

While Mark was obviously drunk, a very amusing sight as he had seen only once or twice this whole campaign, his words did have some validity to them. While it did sometimes snow in Pherae this early in the year, it was never of such ferocity as it was now.

Abnormalities in weather, however, were bound to happen occasionally. It was just his damn luck that it picked now to snow as bad as it was.

"And look who it is!" Mark said with a bite of intoxicated laughter, waving a hand towards the spiral staircase of the room, "Queen of Gibberish and Nonsense herself, come to show her face and spout her prophetic crap!" He toasted the air just as Eliwood turned to find, indeed, Rose walking down the stairs, red-eyed and teary as always.

The girl was looking no better than before, but no worse. Her hair was tousled and her eyes were hooded, both hers and Clockwork's pocket watches jangling together around her neck. A sort of hush befell the occupants of the room, and over the silence Eliwood could hear Hector – who was drunker than Bartre by now, no doubt – swear nastily.

What was Rose planning on doing? Come to ruin what remained of Eliwood's day, or finally confess information to the army? Pessimistically, he thought the former.

Her eyes, however, fell to the piano jammed by the bar and a genuine smile crossed her face for the first time, much to Eliwood's (and apparently, Mark's) great surprise. Mark snorted in laughter, "Whore finally happy about something . . ."

Rose pushed her way to the piano and gently tapped the pianist on the shoulder, gesturing for her to start playing. The pianist grinned and with a, "Sure ma'am," stood up, and allowed her to take the seat.

Eliwood recalled, as if from a long time ago, that Wolfhound had handed him a miniature portrait of Rose at a much more elegant piano and that she had also been deemed a pianist by Clockwork. Was she going to play?

The first few notes were soft, Rose's fingers twitching across the keys as she played an almost haunting melody. Had it been opera music, there would have been a soprano singing. Almost a waltz of a tune, he supposed, but as she continued, the tempo grew, the song deepened . . .

The fiddler had struck up a tune as well, to accompany Rose's playing, for the song was very familiar to any Pherean. It was the Midsummer Waltz, the song played at the conversion between the springtime yield and the beginning of the year's last harvest, the one that Eleanora and Elbert had danced at every year their son could remember . . .

Eliwood stood up and, hurrying in a quickstep that he could not help but keep in time to the music, left the inn through the front door. The wind hit him hard and he had to blink back several hard flakes of snow and pieces of hail as they hit his cheeks. It took him a long moment to realize that he was crying, even if they were silent tears.

What a fine general he made, at nineteen and crying over one woman's death instead of taking the loss like a man. In two years, he would inherit his father's throne as Marquess Pherae and what a fine one he'd make, when he couldn't even keep Ninian safe when he promised her protection . . .

Eliwood kicked at a pile of snow and swore, wiping the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand and gripping the rapier beneath the folds of his cloak.

"Hov amusing."

At the sound of the voice, the coldly amused female voice with the alien accent, his eyes narrowed and he turned to spy the uniformed figure of Victor Wolfhound. Her figure was almost obscured by the shadows of the tavern's sloping roof, an odd coat hiding her face with a hood, the silver glint of the pocket watch disappearing beneath the folds of the coat.

"Wolfhound," he snarled, so very much unlike his usual voice, drawing out the rapier with a flourish, "What are you doing here?"

"Temper, temper," she simpered in a voice of mock politeness, "I am not here for fery long. Just to here Roseland Fletcher play her Valtz one last time."

"_Her _waltz?" he snapped and Wolfhound laughed. She turned her face to the window, wiping of snow and frost to spy the redhead at the piano.

"A piece Ryder vrote for her und vhat she took for her ovn. Once a thief, alvays a thief," she said with a wide grin, and he found his teeth clenching tightly and his fingers wrapping firmer around his rapier's hilt. They had begun to go numb from cold.

"Tell me who Rose really is!" Eliwood yelled out to her, "If not that, then just take her and leave us be!"

Wolfhound reached into the inner pockets of her coat and he braced himself, preparing for the worst and a swordfight. Instead, however, she unfurled a large stack of parchment papers as crisp and cleanly white as the snow around them and threw them over to him. "Here," she said as he caught them, "Courtesy of Lady-Empress Fenrir. She has asked me to give you the folloving message. She has been forced to extend the meeting date betveen her glorious self und you, due to _complications,_" she spat out, "Vith the Lyrical goferment."

"Complications?" Eliwood asked, despite himself, looking at the papers she had thrown to him. All were bound in a leather portfolio, a single portrait – again finely detailed, again on glossy material – slipped between the strings holding the portfolio in place. A portrait of a red-headed girl, hair long and braided elegantly, eyes smiling, skin finely pale, attractive almost and perhaps sixteen . . .

"Trouble runs vithin the Fletcher family," Wolfhound spat angrily, shaking her head and looking back inside the tavern, "Vonderful pianist, Rose is, I must admit."

"Get out of Pherae," he finally told her, slipping the portfolio within the large inner pocket of his own cloak. It was taking all his self-restraint not to kill Wolfhound now, not to see that grin die from her tight face and to ease the passing of Eleanora, but his shoulder was beginning to throb and he would probably fail in one-on-one combat with a _creature _who could survive decapitation.

"Or vhat?"

"Does Mary Fenrir know that it was you who killed Clockwork?" he asked softly, dangerous almost, feeling sick at the sense of pride he felt as Wolfhound's face paled slightly, "Get out of _my _providence and never come back here or I make a note to tell your Empress that."

"Blackmail, hov deviant of you," she said after a long moment's pause, sneering, "Aren't you supposed to be the grand hero vho can do no vrong?"

"_Get out of Pherae._"

She was gone but seconds later, and he had to blink at where she had just been. Only snow and ice stood there.

Eliwood shivered with cold, slipping back out the portfolio with the portrait slit between it and sheathing the rapier quickly. His hands – paling and almost blue with cold – unhooked the string that bound it together and he opened to the first page, curiosity getting the better of him.

Was this his answer to Rose's identity, the idea of the Marquess she was supposedly descended from, the answer to anything at all, or simply more questions that would raise a migraine headache?

There was another portrait of the same redhead girl, smiling brightly, clothing crisp and perfect, an odd uniform in a style Eliwood had never seen before. The text beside the portrait was bland and uncreative, presumably Mary Fenrir's hand – for it was the same as her letter had come in – and read:

_Name: Roseland Fletcher_

_Age: 16_

_Nationality: Pherean, Lycian . . ._

_**I do not own Fire Emblem, Nintendo does. I own all original characters.**_


End file.
